THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


•48?  WiltM*  <ZL  <0rettfell 


LABRADOR    DAYS.      Tales   of  the  Sea   Toilers. 

With  frontispiece. 

TALES  OF  THE  LABRADOR.  With  frontispiece. 
THE  ADVENTURE  OF  LIFE. 
ADRIFT  ON  AN  ICE-PAN.     Illustrated. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


Labrador  Days 


NORTHWARD  HO! 


Labrador  Days 


By 

Wilfred  Thomason  Grenfell 

M.D.  (OXON.),  C.M-.  G. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  TORE 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

tR*  jRibtrsttie  JJrrss  CambnOse 

1919 


PR 


Contents 

THERE'S  TROUBLE  ON  THE  SEA 1 

NANCY 19 

SALLY'S  "TURNS" 38 

THE  DOCTOR'S  BIG  FEE 61 

Two  CAT'S-PAWS 73 

THE  TRIPLE  ALLIANCE 92 

PORTLAND  BILL 113 

KAIACHOUOUK 130 

Two  CHRISTMASES 148 

THE  LEADING  LIGHT 181 

THE  RED  ISLAND  SHOALS  .  203 


Labrador  Days 


THERE'S  TROUBLE  ON  THE  SEA 

THE  ice  in  the  big  bay  had  broken  up  suddenly 
that  year  in  the  latter  part  of  March  before  a 
tremendous  ocean  swell  heaving  in  beneath  it. 
The  piles  of  firewood  and  the  loads  of  timber 
for  the  summer  fishing-rooms  on  all  the  outer 
islands  were  left  standing  on  the  landwash. 
The  dog-teams  usually  haul  all  this  out  at  a 
stretch  gallop  over  the  glare  ice  which  overlies 
in  April  the  snow-covered  surface  of  winter. 
For  weeks,  heavy  pack  ice,  driven  to  and  fro 
with  the  tides,  but  ever  held  in  the  bay  with 
the  onshore  winds,  had  prevented  the  small 
boats'  freighting  more  than  their  families  and 
the  merest  necessities  to  the  summer  stations. 
So  it  came  to  pass  that  long  after  the  usual 
tune,  indeed  after  the  incoming  shoals  of  fish 
were  surely  expected,  John  Mitchell's  firewood 
still  lay  on  the  bank,  some  twenty  miles  up 

1 


Labrador  Days 

the  bay.  When  at  last  a  spell  of  warm  and  off- 
shore winds  had  driven  the  ice  mostly  clear, 
John  announced  to  his  eager  lads  that  "come 
Monday,  if  the  wind  held  westerly,"  he  would 
go  up  the  bay  for  a  load.  What  a  clamour  en- 
sued, for  every  one  wanted  to  be  one  of  the 
crew  to  go  to  the  winter  home.  The  lads,  like 
ducklings,  "fair  loved  the  water";  and  though 
John  needed  Jim,  and  was  quite  glad  to  have 
Tom,  now  of  the  important  age  of  fourteen 
years,  he  did  his  best,  well  seconded  by  the 
wise  old  grandmother,  to  persuade  Neddie, 
aged  twelve,  and  Willie,  aged  ten,  to  stay  be- 
hind. 

"You  be  too  small,  Ned,  yet  awhile.  Next 
year  perhaps  father  will  take  you,"  was  the  old 
lady's  first  argument.  "'Twill  be  cold  in  t* 
boat,  boy,  and  you'll  perish  altogether." 

"Father '11  look  after  me,  Grannie,  and  I'll 
wrap  up  ever  so  warm.  Do  let  me  go.  There 's 
a  dear  grannie." 

The  curly-haired,  rosy-cheeked  lads  were  so 
insistent  and  so  winsome  that  the  old  lady  con- 
fessed to  me  afterwards,  "They  somehow  got 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

round  my  heart  as  they  mostly  does,  and  I  let 
'em  go,  though  sore  against  my  mind,  Doc- 
tor." 

Of  course,  Willie  had  to  go  if  Neddie  went, 
for  "they'd  be  company  while  t'  men  worked, 
and  he  could  carry  small  things  as  well  as  t' 
rest.  He  did  so  want  to  go." 

When  at  length  Monday  came,  and  a  bright 
sun  shone  over  a  placid  sea,  the  grandmother's 
last  excuse  to  keep  them  at  home  was  lost.  Her 
consent  «was  finally  secured,  and,  before  a 
light,  fair  wind  the  women  watched,  not  with- 
out anxiety,  so  many  of  those  whom  they  held 
dearer  than  life  itself  sail  "out  into  the  deep." 

Progress  was  slow,  for  the  wind  fell  away  al- 
most altogether  as  the  morning  passed,  but 
the  glorious  warmth  and  exuberance  of  life 
made  the  tune  seem  as  nothing.  The  picnic  in 
the  big  trap  boat  was  as  good  as  a  prince's  ban- 
quet. For  the  fun  of  "boiling  t'  kettle  your- 
self," and  an  appetite  bred  of  a  day  on  the 
water,  made  the  art  of  French  cooks  and  the 
stimulus  of  patent  relishes  pale  into  insignifi- 
cance. During  the  afternoon  they  "had  a  spurt 

3 


Labrador  Days 

singing,"  and  as  the  words  of  hymns  were  the 
only  ones  they  knew,  the  old  favourites  were 
sung  and  resung.  The  little  lads  especially  led 
the  programme;  and  the  others  remembered 
Willie  singing  for  them,  as  a  solo,  a  childish 
favourite  called  "Bring  Them  In." 

It  was  just  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  eve- 
ning. The  boat  was  well  out  in  the  bay,  be- 
tween three  and  four  miles  from  land,  when 
John  noticed  a  fresh  "cat's-paw"  of  wind,  just 
touching  the  water  here  and  there.  There  was 
scarcely  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  nothing  what- 
ever to  suggest  a  squall.  But  as  he  looked  again, 
a  suspicious  wisp  of  white  water  lifted  sud- 
denly from  the  surface  a  few  yards  to  wind- 
ward. Like  a  flash  he  remembered  that  the  boat 
had  no  ballast  in  her,  and  was  running  with 
her  sheets  made  fast.  Instinctively  he  leaned 
forward  to  let  go  the  foresail,  but  at  the  same 
moment  the  squall  struck  the  boat  like  the 
hammer  of  Thor.  Relieved  of  the  fore  canvas, 
the  trap  should  have  come  to  the  wind  in  an 
instant.  Instead,  leaning  over  heavily  with  the 
immense  pressure,  she  staggered  and  reeled 

4 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

as  if  some  unseen  enemy  had  gripped  her. 
Scarcely  perceptibly  she  gave  ground,  and  a 
lifetime  seemed  to  elapse  to  John's  horror- 
stricken  mind  as  she  fell  slowly  over,  as  if  fight- 
ing for  every  inch,  and  conscious  of  her  terrible 
responsibilities  for  the  issues  at  stake. 

At  last,  in  spite  of  her  stout  resistance,  and 
before  John  could  climb  aft  and  get  at  the 
main  sheet,  or  do  anything  to  relieve  the  boat, 
her  stern  was  driven  right  under  water  by  the 
sheer  pressure  of  the  storm.  Slowly  she  turned 
over,  leaving  all  of  her  occupants  struggling  in 
the  icy  water,  for  there  were  many  pieces  of 
ice  still  "knocking  around." 

The  slow  rate  at  which  the  boat  had  gone 
over  was  one  point  in  their  favour,  however, 
for  it  enabled  even  the  little  lads  to  get  clear  of 
the  gunwale;  and  by  the  help  of  John  and  Jim 
all  five  were  soon  huddled  on  the  upturned 
keel  of  the  boat.  The  boys  being  all  safe  for  the 
moment,  John  rubbed  his  eyes,  and,  raising 
himself  as  high  as  he  could,  viewed  the  situa- 
tion. Alas!  the  squall  had  come  to  stay. 
Everywhere  now  the  placid  surface  of  the 

5 


Labrador  Days 

sea  was  ruffled  and  angry  .\  The  rising,  flaky 
clouds  convinced  him  even  in  that  instanta- 
neous glance  that  the  brewing  storm  offered 
them  little  chance  for  their  lives. 

Far  away  to  leeward,  not  less  than  four 
miles  distant,  the  loom  of  the  land  was  only 
just  visible.  Well  he  realized  that  it  would  be 
many  long  hours  before  the  boat,  with  her 
masts  and  sails  still  fast  in,  could  drive  near 
enough  to  enable  them  to  make  a  landing.  For, 
like  most  fishermen  in  these  icy  waters,  none  of 
them  knew  how  to  swim.  Moreover,  he  soon 
found  that  the  anchor,  fast  to  the  warp,  had 
fallen  out,  and  would  certainly  sooner  or  later 
touch  bottom  —  thus  robbing  them  of  their 
one  and  only  chance  of  escape  by  preventing 
the  boat  from  drifting  into  shallow  water. 

So  cold  was  it  already  that  it  appeared  as  if 
a  few  moments  at  most  must  chill  the  life  out 
of  at  least  the  younger  children. 

"Hold  Willie  on,  Ned,  and  ask  God  to  bring 
us  all  safe  home,"  said  John.  He  told  me  that 
he  felt  somehow  as  if  their  prayers  were  more 
likely  to  be  heard  than  his  own.  He  then 

6 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

crawled  forward,  having  made  up  his  mind  to 
try  and  cut  the  anchor  free,  and  to  get  the  rope 
to  tie  round  the  boat  and  hold  on  the  children. 
His  determination  was  fortified  by  his  anxiety; 
but  it  was  a  forlorn  hope,  for  it  meant  lowering 
himself  right  into  the  water,  and  he  knew  well 
enough  that  he  could  not  swim  a  yard.  Then  it 
was  done,  and  he  was  once  more  clinging  to 
the  keel  with  the  rope  in  his  hand.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  get  a  bight  round  the  boat,  and 
soon  he  had  the  children  firmly  lashed  on  and 
the  boat  was  again  making  fair  progress  before 
the  wind  to  the  opposite  shore. 

Hours  seemed  to  go  by.  The  children  were 
sleepy.  Apparently  they  no  longer  felt  the 
cold,  and  the  average  man  might  have  thought 
that  it  was  a  miracle  on  their  behalf,  for  God 
knows  they  had  prayed  hard  enough  for  one. 
But  John  recognized  only  too  well  that  it  was 
that  merciful  harbinger  of  the  last  long  sleep, 
which  had  overtaken  more  than  one  of  his  best 
friends,  when  adrift  in  the  storms  of  winter. 
And  still  the  age-long  journey  dragged  hope- 
lessly on. 

7 


Labrador  Days 

At  last  the  awful  suspense,  a  thousand  tunes 
more  cruel  for  their  being  unable  to  do  any- 
thing, was  broken  by  even  the  welcome  inci- 
dent of  a  new  danger.  Breakers  were  visible  in 
the  direct  course  of  their  drift.  "Maybe  she'll 
turn  over,  Jim,"  whispered  the  skipper.  "I 
reckon  we  must  loose  t'  children  for  fear  she 
does."  This  being  effected  as  promptly  as  their 
condition  allowed,  Tom  was  told  off  to  do 
nothing  but  watch  them  and  keep  them  safe. 
For  already  the  men  had  planned,  if  the  slight- 
est chance  offered,  to  try  and  get  the  masts 
out  while  she  lay  on  her  beam-ends. 

The  breakers?  Well,  they  knew  they  were 
only  of  small  extent.  There  was  a  pinnacle  of 
rock  and  a  single  sea  might  possibly  carry 
them  over  it;  but  the  peril  of  being  washed  off 
was  none  the  less.  Now  they  could  see  the  huge 
rise  of  the  combing  sea  with  its  frowning 
black  top  rushing  at  the  shoal,  and  smashing 
into  an  avalanche  of  snowy  foam.  They  could 
hear  the  dull  roar  of  the  sea,  and  its  mighty 
thunder,  as  it  curled  over  and  fell  furiously 
upon  itself,  for  want  of  other  prey. 

8 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

"Good-bye,  Jim,"  whispered  the  skipper. 
"The  children  is  all  right  either  way,  but  one 
of  us  may  come  through.  Tell  'em  home  it  was 
all  right  if  I  goes." 

Almost  as  he  stopped  speaking,  the  rising 
swell  caught  the  craft,  and  threw  her  once  more 
on  her  beam-ends.  As  for  a  moment  she  lay  on 
her  side,  the  men  attempted  to  free  the  masts, 
but  could  do  nothing,  for  the  boat  almost  im- 
mediately again  fell  over,  bottom  up.  But  a 
second  comber,  lifting  her  with  redoubled  vio- 
lence, threw  them  all  clear  of  the  boat,  turned 
her  momentarily  right  way  up,  and  then  break- 
ing into  the  masts  and  sails,  tipped  her  for  the 
third  time  upside  down,  flinging  her  at  the 
same  instant  in  mad  fury  clear  of  the  angry 
water.  So  violent  had  been  the  blow  which 
had  thrown  them  clear,  that  they  must  inevit- 
ably all  have  perished,  had  not  the  last  effort  of 
the  breakers  actually  hurled  the  boat  again 
almost  on  the  top  of  them.  Clutching  as  at  a 
straw,  the  two  men  caught  the  loops  of  the  rope 
which  they  had  wound  round  their  craft,  but 
they  could  see  nothing  of  the  other  three.  Sud- 

9 


Labrador  Days 

denly,  from  almost  directly  under  the  boat, 
Tom's  head  appeared  within  reach.  Grabbing 
him,  they  tried  to  drag  him  up  on  to  the  keel. 
Rolling  in  the  wake  of  the  breakers  which  still 
followed  them  with  vicious  pertinacity,  they 
twice  lost  their  hold  of  the  boy,  their  now 
numbed  limbs  scarcely  giving  them  strength 
to  grasp  anything.  It  seemed  of  little  account 
at  the  time  either  way.  But  their  third  attempt 
was  successful,  and  they  got  the  lad  once  more 
on  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

Of  the  children  they  saw  no  more.  Only 
when  Tom  had  revived  somewhat  could  he  ex- 
plain that  the  capsizing  boat  had  caught  them 
all  three  under  it  as  in  a  trap,  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded, still  clinging  to  Willie,  to  get  him  from 
under  it,  and  that  he  was  still  holding  his 
brother  when  he  first  came  to  the  surface.  Af- 
ter that  he  did  not  remember  anything  till  they 
were  calling  to  him  on  the  boat's  bottom.  The 
men  were  sure  that  it  was  so  —  that  because 
he  had  been  true  to  the  last  to  his  trust,  he  had 
been  such  a  deadweight  the  first  two  times  he 

came  to  the  surface. 

10 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

And  now  began  again  the  cruel,  wearisome, 
endless  drift  of  the  water- logged  boat  toward 
the  still  distant  shore,  lightened  but  little  by 
the  loss  of  the  loved  children.  There  was  no 
longer  any  doubt  left  in  their  minds;  unless 
something  could  be  done,  none  of  them  would 
possibly  live  to  tell  the  tale.  It  was  the  still 
active  mind  and  indomitable  courage  of  the 
skipper  which  found  the  solution.  Crawling 
close  to  Jim,  he  said:  "There's  only  one 
chance.  We  must  turn  her  over,  and  get  in 
her,  or  perish.  I'm  going  to  try  and  loose  t' 
masts." 

Swinging  himself  once  more  into  the  bitter- 
cold  water,  he  succeeded  in  finding  the  slight 
ropes  which  formed  the  stays,  and  though  it  is 
almost  incredible,  he  actually  managed  to  cut 
and  free  them  all,  before  Jim  hauled  him  back, 
more  dead  than  alive,  on  to  the  boat's  bottom. 
At  all  hazards  they  must  right  the  boat  and 
climb  into  her.  Their  plans  were  soon  made. 
Tom,  placed  between  the  two  men,  was  to  do 
exactly  as  they  did.  Stretching  themselves  out, 

and  holding  the  keel  rope  in  their  hands,  they 

11 


Labrador  Days 

all  threw  themselves  over  on  one  side,  lying  as 
nearly  as  possible  at  full  length.  The  boat  re- 
sponded instantly,  and  then*  only  fear  was 
that,  as  she  had  done  before,  she  might  again 
go  right  over  on  them.  But  there  were  no  masts 
now  to  hold  the  wind,  so  she  stood  up  on  her 
beam-ends.  As  the  water  took  the  weights  of 
the  men,  it  was  all  they  could  do  to  get  her 
over.  Moreover,  the  task  was  rendered  doubly 
difficult  and  perilous  by  their  exhaustion  and 
inability  to  swim  when  the  keel  to  which  they 
were  holding  went  under  water.  But  then*  agil- 
ity and  self-reliance,  evolved  from  a  life  next 
to  Nature,  stood  them  in  good  stead,  and  soon 
all  three  were  actually  standing  inside  the 
water-logged  boat.  The  oars,  lashed  under  the 
seats,  were  still  in  her,  and,  though  almost  up 
to  their  waists  in  water,  they  began  sculling 
and  rowing  as  hard  as  their  strength  and  the 
dangerous  roll  of  the  sunken  boat  would  per- 
mit. 

Slowly  the  surf  on  the  sandy  beach  drew 
near,  and  now,  keeping  her  head  before  the 
breeze,  they  rolled  along  shorewards.  Again, 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

however,  it  became  apparent  that  a  new  de- 
parture must  be  made.  For  a  heavy  surf  was 
breaking  on  the  shore  which  they  were  apr 
preaching,  that  ran  off  shallow  for  half  a  mile. 
There  was  not  water  enough  to  let  the  boat 
approach  the  land,  and  they  realized  that  they 
had  not  sufficient  strength  left  to  walk  through 
the  breakers.  Yet  struggle  as  they  would,  the 
best  they  could  do  was  to  keep  the  boat  very 
slightly  across  the  wind. 

John  maintains  now  that  it  was  the  direct 
intervention  of  Providence  which  spared  them 
just  when  once  more  all  hope  seemed  over. 
They  suddenly  noticed  that  while  still  forging 
shorewards  they  were  also  drif  ting  rapidly  into 
the  bay.  It  was  the  first  uprush  of  the  strong 
rising  tide,  and  they  might  yet  be  carried  to  a 
deep-water  landing.  The  play  of  hope  and  fear 
made  the  remaining  hours  an  agony  of  sus- 
pense. What  would  be  the  end  of  it  all  seemed 
a  mere  gamble.  Every  mark  on  the  approach- 
ing shore  was  now  familiar  to  them.  It  had  be- 
come, they  knew  well  enough,  a  question  of  life 
or  death  where  the  drifting  boat  would  touch 

13 


Labrador  Days 

the  strand.  Now  it  seemed  impossible  that  she 
should  clear  the  shallow  surf,  whose  hungry 
roar  sounded  a  death-knell  to  any  one  handed 
to  its  tender  mercies.  Now  it  seemed  certain 
that  she  would  be  carried  up  the  bay  without 
touching  land  at  all.  Hope  rose  as  a  little  later 
it  became  obvious  that  she  would  clear  the 
sands. 

Now  the  rocky  headland,  round  which  their 
winter  house  stood,  was  coming  rapidly  into 
view.  As  the  mouth  of  the  bay  narrowed,  the 
pace  of  the  current  increased,  and  for  a  time 
they  seemed  to  be  hopelessly  rushing  past 
their  one  hope  of  landing.  The  excitement  and 
the  exertion  of  putting  might  and  main  into 
the  oars  had  made  them  almost  forget  the  wet 
and  cold  and  darkness,  now  only  relieved  by 
the  last  afterglow  of  the  setting  sun.  But  it  all 
appeared  of  no  avail;  they  were  still  some  hun- 
dred yards  off  as  they  passed  the  point.  It 
might  as  well  have  been  some  hundred  miles, 
for  they  drifted  helplessly  into  the  bay,  which 
was  widening  out  again. 

Despair,  however,  still  failed  to  grip  them, 
14 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

and  apparently  hopelessly  they  kept  toiling 
on  at  the  sweeps.  Once  more  a  miracle  hap- 
pened, and  they  were  really  apparently  ap- 
proaching the  point  a  second  time.  The  very 
violence  of  the  tide  had  actually  saved  them, 
creating  as  it  did  a  strong  eddy,  which  with  the 
little  aid  from  the  oars,  bore  them  now  stead- 
ily toward  the  land.  Nearer  and  nearer  they 
came.  They  were  half  a  mile  inside  the  head. 
Only  a  few  boat-lengths  now  separated  them 
from  the  beach.  Would  they  be  able  to  get 
ashore ! 

Strange  as  it  sounds,  any  and  all  specula- 
tions they  might  have  with  regard  to  where 
the  boat  would  strike  bottom  were  to  be  disap- 
pointed. Her  keel  never  touched  bottom  at  all. 
It  was  her  gunwale  which  first  bumped  into 
the  steep  rocks  —  and  that  at  a  point  only  a 
few  yards  from  their  winter  house. 

Even  now  their  troubles  were  not  over. 
Only  the  skipper  could  stand  erect.  Tom, 
dragged  out  by  the  others,  lay  an  inert  mass 
on  the  soft  bed  of  crisp  creeping  plants  which 
cover  the  bank.  Jim  was  able  to  totter  a  few 

15 


Labrador  Days 

yards,  fell,  and  finally  crawled  part  of  the  way 
to  the  house  door.  But  the  skipper,  in  spite  of 
swollen  and  blackened  legs,  held  out  not  only 
to  get  a  fire  lit,  but  to  bring  in  the  other  two, 
and  finally  wean  back  their  frozen  limbs  to  life. 

It  took  two  days  to  regain  strength  enough 
to  haul  up  the  boat  and  refit  her;  and  then  the 
sorrowful  little  company  proceeded  on  their 
homeward  journey.  It  was  a  sad  home-coming 
after  the  brave  start  they  had  made.  It  was  a 
terrible  message  which  they  had  to  carry  to 
the  anxious  hearts  awaiting  them.  For  nothing 
in  heaven  or  earth  can  replace  the  loss  of  loved 
ones  suddenly  taken  from  us. 

"I've  been  cruising  in  boats  five  and  forty 
years,"  said  John.  "I  were  out  two  days  and  a 
night  with  t'  Bonnie  Lass  when  she  were  lost 
on  t*  Bristle  Rocks,  and  us  brought  in  only  two 
of  her  crew  alive.  And  I  was  out  on  t'  ice  in  t* 
blizzard  when  Jim  Warren  drove  off,  and  us 
brought  he  back  dead  to  his  wife  next  day.  But 
this  was  the  worst  of  all.  As  us  passed  t'  rocky 
shoal,  it  seemed  only  a  few  minutes  since  us 

capsized  on  it;  and  I  knowed  Ned  and  Willie 

16 


There's  Trouble  on  the  Sea 

must  be  right  alongside.  As  us  passed  Snarly 
Bight,  out  of  which  t'  puff  came,  us  thought  of 
t'  boys  singing  their  little  songs,  and  know'd 
that  they  should  be  with  us  now;  and  when  t' 
Lone  Point  loomed  up,  round  which  youse  turn 
to  make  our  harbour,  us  all  sort  of  wished  one 
more  puff  would  come  along  and  finish  t'  job 
properly.  For  it  would  n't  have  been  hard  to 
join  t'  children  again,  but  to  face  t'  women 
without  'em  seemed  more  'n  us  could  do. 

"How  to  break  the  news  us  had  talked  a 
dozen  times,  but  never  got  no  nearer  what  to 
say.  As  us  ran  in  at  last  for  t'  stage,  us  could  see 
that  Mother  had  hoisted  t'  flag  t'  Company 
gived  we  t'  year  us  bought  furs  for  they,  and 
that  Grannie  was  out  waiting  for  us  on  t'  land- 
wash. 

"All  I  remembers  was  that  scarce  a  word 
was  spoke.  They  know'd  it.  I  believe  they 
know'd  it  before  they  seed  t'  boat.  If  only 
them  had  cried  I  'd  have  been  able  to  say  some- 
thing. But  ne'er  a  word  was  spoke.  So  I  says, 
'Jim,  go  up  and  pull  t'  flag  down  quick.  Us  has 
no  right  to  having  t'  flags  flying  for  we.' 

17 


Labrador  Days 

''Then  Grannie,  she  gets  her  voice,  and  she 
says,  'No,  Jimmie,  don't  you  do  it.  It  be  just 
right  as  it  is.  For  't  is  for  Neddie's  and  Willie's 
home-coming  it  be  flying." 


NANCY 

WE  had  just  reached  hospital  from  a  long  trip 
"on  dogs."  My  driver  was  slipping  the  har- 
nesses off  the  animals  and  giving  them  the 
customary  friendly  cuff  and  words  of  praise. 
Among  the  crowd  which  always  gathered  to 
greet  us,  one  friend,  after  giving  us  the  usual 
welcome  of  "What  cheer,  Doctor?"  noticed 
apparently  that  I  had  a  new  winter  compagnon 
de  voyage. 

"Joe's  not  with  you,  Doctor?  Gone  sawing 
t'  winter,  I  hear.  T'  boys  say  he's  got  a  fine 
bulk  of  timber  cut  already." 

"Working  for  the  lumber  camp,  I  suppose, 
Uncle  Abe,"  I  replied. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  chuckled.  "'T  is  sawing 
for  hisself  he's  gone." 

"Eh?  Wants  lumber,  does  he?  Going  to  build 
a  larger  fishing  boat?" 

"  Youse  can  call  it  that  if  you  likes,  Doctor, 
for  't  will  be  a  fine  fish  he  lands  into  it.  But  I 
reckon  't  is  more  of  a  dock  he'll  need."  And 

19 


Labrador  Days 

the  rest   joined    in   hearty   laughter  at  the 
sally. 

"T  is  a  full-rigged  schooner  he  be  going  to 
moor  there,  with  bunting  enough  to  burn,  and 
as  saucy  as  a  cyclone,"  chimed  in  another, 
while  a  third  'lowed,  "T  is  a  great  girl  he's 
after,  if  he  gets  her,  anyhow." 

"Nancy's  the  pluckiest  little  girl  for  many 
a  mile  along  this  coast  or  she  wouldn't  be 
what  she  is,  and  her  family  so  poor." 

A  week  or  so  later  I  fell  in  with  hah*  a  dozen 
boisterous  lads  driving  their  sledges  home 
laden  with  new  wood.  It  proclaimed  to  the  har- 
bour that  the  rumour  of  Joe's  big  bulk  of  tim- 
ber being  ready  so  early  had  not  been  exag- 
gerated. It  was  only  then  that  I  learned  that  he 
had  in  addition  quickly  got  his  floors  down  be- 
fore the  ground  froze,  so  that  he  might  finish 
building  before  the  winter  set  in. 

Many  hands  make  light  work  and  every  one 
was  Joe's  friend,  so  by  the  end  of  December  the 
new  house  had  not  only  been  sheathed  in,  but 
roofed  and  floored,  ready  for  occupation. 

In  our  scattered  communities,  isolated  not 
20 


Nancy 

only  from  one  another,  but  also  largely  from 
the  world  outside,  the  simple  incidents  of 
everyday  life  afford  just  as  much  interest  as 
the  more  artificial  attractions  of  civilization. 
Every  one  on  our  coast  in  winter  has  to  have  a 
dog  team,  no  matter  how  poor  he  is,  in  order  to 
haul  home  his  firewood.  In  summer  there  is  no 
time  and  there  are  no  roads,  while  in  winter 
the  snow  makes  the  whole  land  one  broad  high- 
way. There  is  no  better  fun  than  a  "randy" 
over  the  snow  on  a  light  komatik.  At  this  time 
even  our  older  people  go  on  "joy  rides,"  visit- 
ing along  the  coast.  Many  a  moonlight  night, 
after  the  day's  work  is  over,  when  the  reflec- 
tion from  the  snow  makes  it  almost  as  light 
as  day,  an  unexpected  but  welcome  visitor 
comes  knocking  at  one's  door,  asking  for  a 
shake-down  just  for  the  night. 

Thus  Joe's  secret  was  soon  common  prop- 
erty. His  own  enthusiasm,  however,  engen- 
dered a  reflection  of  itself  in  other  people,  and 
almost  before  he  had  the  cottage  sheathed  in- 
side, and  really  "ready  for  launching,"  from 
here  and  there  every  one  had  come  in,  bringing 

21 


Labrador  Days 

at  any  rate  the  necessities  to  make  it  possible 
to  put  out  to  sea  on  the  new  voyage.  Accord- 
ingly I  was  not  surprised  one  evening  a  little 
later  when  a  low  knock  at  my  door,  followed 
by  a  summons  to  come  in,  revealed  Joe  stand- 
ing somewhat  sheepishly,  cap  in  hand,  in  the 
entrance.  Once  the  subject  was  broached,  how- 
ever, the  matter  was  soon  arranged,  Joe  having 
a  direct  way  about  him  which  ignored  difficul- 
ties, and  I,  being  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  was 
soon  pledged  to  act  as  parson  at  the  function. 

Everything  went  well.  We  struck  glorious 
weather  for  the  day  of  the  wedding.  Little  dep- 
utations streamed  in  from  other  villages;  gay 
flags  and  banners,  though  some  of  fearsome 
home-devised  patterns,  made  a  brave  contrast 
to  the  white  mantle  of  snow;  while  we  supple- 
mented the  usual  salvo  of  guns  from  porten- 
tous and  historic  fowling-pieces  with  a  halo  of 
distress  rockets,  which  we  burned  from  our 
hospital  boat,  which  was  lying  frozen  in  our 
harbour. 

The  excitement  of  the  affair,  like  all  other 

things  human,  soon  passed  away,  and  the  ordi- 

22 


Nancy 

nary  routine  of  the  wood-path,  the  fur-path, 
and  seal-hunting,  the  saw-pit,  the  net-loft,  and 
boat-building,  turned  our  attention  to  our  own 
affairs  once  more.  The  new  venture  was  soon 
an  old  one,  only  we  were  glad  to  see,  as  we 
passed  along  the  road,  a  fresh  column  of  blue 
smoke  rising,  and  speaking  of  another  centre 
of  life  and  activity  in  our  village. 

Once  more,  as  the  sun  crept  north  of  the 
line,  the  ice  bonds  of  our  harbour  began  to 
melt.  Once  more  the  mighty  ocean  outside, 
freed  from  the  restraint  of  the  Arctic  floe,  gen- 
erously sent  surging  into  the  landwash  the  very 
power  we  needed,  and  on  which  we  depend,  to 
break  up  and  carry  out  the  heavy  ice  accumu- 
lation of  the  winter,  which  must  otherwise 
bar  us  altogether  from  the  prosecution  of  our 
calling. 

My  own  vessel  had  been  scraped  and  re- 
painted. Her  spars  bright  with  new  varnish, 
her  funnel  gay  with  our  blue  bunting  flag  con- 
trasting with  the  yellow,  she  had  come  to  the 
wharf  for  the  last  time  before  leaving  for  the 
long  summer  cruise  among  the  Labrador  fish- 

23 


Labrador  Days 

ing  fleet.  Indeed,  I  was  just  working  over  the 
ship's  course  in  my  chart-room,  when  once 
more  Joe,  cap  in  hand,  stood  hi  the  doorway 
—  evidently  with  something  very  much  on  his 
mind. 

"What  is  it,  Joe?  Come  in  and  shut  the  door 
and  sit  down.  You  are  only  just  in  time,  for  I 
was  going  to  ring  for  steam  as  you  came  along." 
""Well,  Doctor,"  he  said,  "'t  is  this  way.  I 's 
only  got  hook  and  line  to  fish  with  as  you 
knows;  and  that  don't  give  a  fellow  a  chance  of 
putting  anything  by,  no  matter  how  well  he 
does.  There 's  no  knowing  now  but  what  I  may 
need  more  still.  It  is  n't  like  when  a  man  was 
alone  hi  the  world.  I  was  aboard  Captain  Jack- 
son of  the  Water  Lily,  what  come  in  last  night, 
and  he  says  that  he  'd  take  me  to  the  Labra- 
dor fishing,  and  give  me  a  share  hi  his  cod  trap, 
being  as  he  is  short  of  a  hand.  Well,  't  is  a  fine 
chance,  Doctor.  But  Nancy  won't  hear  of  my 
going  without  her  going  too.  She  says  that  she 
is  well  able  to  do  it,  and  well  acquainted  with 
schooners  —  and  that's  true,  as  you  knows; 
but  I  'm  afraid  to  take  her  as  she  is.  Still,  't  is 

24 


Nancy 

a  good  chance,  and  I  did -n't  like  to  let  it  go,  so 
I  just  come  to  ask  what  your  mind  is  about  it." 

I  had  seen  Nancy  on  my  farewell  round  of 
the  cottages,  and  although  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred almost  any  other  occupation  for  her,  yet, 
taking  into  consideration  the  habits  and  cus- 
toms of  the  people,  and  that  to  her  the  venture 
was  in  no  way  a  new  one,  I  advised  him  to  ac- 
cept the  skipper's  offer,  and  take  Nancy  along 
with  him,  if  they  could  get  decent  accommo- 
dation. I  received  his  assurance  that  he  would 
keep  a  lookout  for  the  hospital  boat.  With  most 
sincere  protestations  of  gratitude  he  bade  me 
farewell,  and  when  a  few  minutes  later  we 
steamed  past  his  little  house  on  our  way  out 
to  sea,  he  was  all  ready  with  his  long  gun  to 
fire  us  good-bye  salutes,  which  we  answered 
and  re-answered  with  our  steam  whistle. 

All  summer  long  we  were  cruising  off  the 
northern  Labrador  coast,  now  running  into  the 
fjords  to  visit  the  scattered  settlers,  now  on  the 
outside  among  the  many  fishing  craft  which 
were  plying  their  calling  on  the  banks  that 
fringe  the  islands  and  outermost  points  of  land. 

25 


Labrador  Days 

Fishermen  from  hundreds  of  vessels  visited  us 
for  sickness,  for  books,  for  a  thousand  different 
reasons;  but  never  a  sight  of  the  Water  Lily 
did  we  see,  and  never  a  word  did  we  hear  of 
either  Joe  or  Nancy  the  whole  season  through. 
True,  in  the  number  of  other  claims  on  our 
attention,  it  was  not  often  that  their  fortunes 
came  to  one's  mind.  But  now  and  again  we 
asked  about  the  schooner,  and  always  got  the 
same  negative  reply,  "Reckon  she've  got  a 
load  and  gone  south."  This  was  a  view  which 
we  were  only  too  glad  to  adopt,  as  it  meant  the 
best  possible  luck  for  our  friends. 

Now  November  had  come  round  once  more. 
The  main  fleet  of  vessels  had  long  ago  passed 
south.  It  was  so  long  since  we  had  seen  even 
one  of  the  belated  craft  which  "bring  up  the 
heel  of  the  Labrador"  that  we  had  closed  up 
the  summer  stations,  and  were  paying  our  last 
visits  to  our  colleagues  at  the  southern  hos- 
pital, who  were  to  remain  through  the  winter. 

It  was  therefore  no  small  surprise  when  Jake 
Low,  from  the  village*  who  had  been  up  spying 
from  the  lookout  on  the  hill,  came  into  the  hos- 

26 


Nancy 

pital  and  announced  that  a  large  schooner  with 
a  flag  flying  in  her  rigging  was  beating  up  to 
the  harbour  mouth  from  sea.  "She's  making 
good  ground  and  is  well  fished,"  he  added. 
"What's  more,  I  guess  from  t'  course  she's 
shaping  they  know  the  way  in  all  right.  So  it 
must  be  a  doctor  they  wants,  and  not  a  pilot  at 
this  tune  of  year." 

The  news  proved  interesting  enough  to  lure 
us  up  to  the  hilltop  with  the  telescope,  where 
in  a  short  while  we  were  enjoying  the  wonder- 
ful spectacle  of  watching  a  crew  of  the  vikings 
of  our  day  force  their  way  through  a  winding 
narrow  passage  in  a  large  vessel  against  a 
heavy  winter  head  wind. 

The  tide,  too,  was  running  out  against  her, 
and  now  and  then  a  flaw  of  wind  or  a  back 
eddy,  caused  by  the  cliffs  on  either  side,  would 
upset  the  helmsman's  calculations.  Yet  with 
superb  coolness  he  would  drive  her,  till  to  us 
watchers,  lying  stretched  out  on  the  ground 
overhead,  it  seemed  that  her  forefoot  must 
surely  be  over  the  submerged  cliff-side.  Cer- 
tainly the  white  surf  from  the  rocks  washed  her 

27 


Labrador  Days 

cutwater  before  the  skipper  who  was  "scun- 
ning"  or  directing,  perched  on  the  fore  cross- 
tree,  would  sing  out  the  "Ready  about.  Lee, 
oh!"  for  which  the  men  at  the  sheets  and  bow- 
lines were  keenly  waiting. 

A  single  slip,  and  she  would  have  cracked 
like  a  nutshell  against  those  adamantine 
walls.  But  to  get  into  the  harbour  it  was  the 
only  way,  and  as  the  skipper  said  afterwards, 
when  I  remonstrated  on  his  apparent  f  oolhard- 
iness,  "Needs  must,  when  the  devil  drives." 

"There's  a  big  crowd  of  men  on  deck,  Doc- 
tor," said  my  companion.  "Reckon  she's  been 
delayed  with  her  freighters,  and  that  there 's  a 
load  of  women  and  children  in  t'  hold  on  t* 
fish." 

I  had  been  so  absorbed  in  watching  his  sea- 
manship, that  I  had  not  been  thinking  about 
the  stranger.  Jake's  remark  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  my  thoughts;  and  soon  the  vessel's  lines 
seemed  to  assume  a  familiar  shape,  and  I  began 
to  realize  that  I  must  have  seen  her  before. 
Then  suddenly  it  flashed  upon  me  —  the 
Water  Lily,  of  course. 


Nancy 

Yes,  it  was  the  Water  Lily.  Then  Joe  was  on 
board,  and  the  flag  was  because  Nancy  was  in 
trouble.  The  reasoning  was  intuitive  rather 
than  didactic;  but  the  conviction  was  so  forci- 
ble that  I  instinctively  rose  to  return  to  the 
hospital  for  the  black  bag  that  is  my  fidus 
Achates  on  every  emergency  call. 

"You  is  n't  going  till  she  rounds  t'  point  of  t' 
Chain  Rocks,  is  you,  Doctor?  It's  all  she'll  do 
with  the  wind  and  tide  against  her  —  if  she 
does  it.  I  minds  more  than  one  good  vessel 
that's  left  her  bones  on  them  reefs." 

"As  well  stay,  I  suppose,  Jake,  for  I'll  be  in 
time  if  I  do.  My!  look  at  that!"  I  could  not 
help  shouting,  as  a  flaw  of  wind  struck  the 
schooner  right  ahead  as  she  was  actually  in 
stays,  and  it  seemed  she  must  either  fall  ha 
sideways  or  drive  stern  foremost  on  the  cliffs. 
But  almost  as  quick  as  the  eddy,  the  staysail 
and  jib  were  let  run  and  off  her,  and  her  main 
boom  was  pushed  by  a  whole  gang  of  men  away 
out  over  the  rail,  so  that  by  altering  the  points 
of  pressure  the  good  ship  went  safely  round 
on  her  heel,  and  before  we  had  time  to  discuss 

29 


Labrador  Days 

it,  her  head  sails  were  up  again,  and  she  was 
racing  on  her  last  tack  to  enable  her  to  claw 
through  the  narrow  channel  between  the  Chain 
Rocks  and  the  Cannons,  which  form  the  last 
breakwater  for  the  harbour. 

"I  think  she'll  do  it,  Jake!" 

"If  she  once  gets  in  t'  narrows  and  can't 
fetch  t'  point,  it 's  all  up  with  her.  I  'lows  't  is 
time  to  get  them  women  out  of  t'  hold,  any- 
how," he  replied  laconically,  his  eyes  riveted 
all  the  while  on  the  scene  below.  "There's  a 
crowd  standing  by  t'  boat,  I  sees,  and  them 's 
putting  a  line  in  her,"  he  added  a  minute  or 
two  later,  during  which  time  excitement  had 
prevented  either  of  us  from  speaking.  "Us '11 
know  in  a  second  one  way  or  t'  other." 

The  crisis  had  soon  arrived.  The  schooner 
had  once  more  reached  across  the  harbour 
channel,  and  was  for  the  last  time  "in  stays." 
A  decision  had  to  be  arrived  at  instantly,  and 
on  it,  and  on  the  handling  of  the  vessel,  de- 
pended her  fate. 

"He's  game,  sure  enough,  whoever  he  is. 

He's  going  for  it  hit  or  miss."  And  there  was  a 

30 


Nancy 

touch  of  excitement  evidenced  even  in  Jake's 
undemonstrative  exterior. 

We  could  now  plainly  see  the  master.  He  was 
standing  on  the  cross-tree,  whence  he  could  tell, 
by  looking  into  the  water,  almost  to  an  inch 
how  far  it  was  possible  to  go  before  turning. 

"She'll  do  it,  Jake,  she'll  do  it.  See,  she's 
heading  for  the  middle  of  the  run." 

"She  will  if  she  does,  and  that's  all,  Doctor. 
She's  falling  off  all  t'  while." 

It  was  only  too  true.  The  vessel  could  no 
longer  head  for  the  point.  Her  sails  were 
aback,  shaking  in  the  wind,  and  she  now  head- 
ing straight  for  the  rock  itself.  Surely  she  must 
at  once  try  to  come  up  in  the  wind,  stop  her 
way,  drop  her  sails,  if  possible  throw  out  the 
boat,  and  head  for  the  open  before  she  should 
strike  on  one  side  or  the  other  of  the  run. 

But  no,  we  could  hear  the  stentorian  tones 
of  the  skipper  on  the  cross-trees  shouting  that 
which  to  any  but  an  experienced  sailor  must 
have  seemed  certain  suicide.  "Keep  her  away! 
Keep  her  —  full!  Don't  starve  her!  Give  her 
way !  Up  topsail ! "  —  the  latter  having  been  let 

31 


Labrador  Days 

down  to  allow  the  vessel  to  lie  closer  hauled  to 
the  wind.  "Stand  by  to  douse  the  head  sails! 
Stand  by  the  topsail!"  we  heard  him  shout. 
"Stand  by  to  shoot  her  into  the  wind!"  —  and 
then  at  last,  just  as  the  crash  seemed  inevita- 
ble, "Hard  down!  Shoot  her  up!  Down  sails!" 

We  up  above,  with  our  hearts  in  our  mouths, 
saw  the  plucky  little  vessel  shoot  true  as  a  die 
up  for  the  point.  It  was  her  only  chance.  I  am 
sure  that  I  could  have  heard  my  own  heart 
beating  as  I  saw  her  rise  on  the  swell  that  ran 
up  on  the  point,  and  it  seemed  to  me  she 
stopped  and  hung  there.  But  before  I  could  be 
certain  whether  she  was  ashore  or  not,  another 
flood  of  the  swell  had  rushed  over  the  point, 
and  she  was  fairly  swirled  around  and  dropped 
down  into  the  safety  of  the  harbour. 

"It's  time  to  be  going,  Doctor,"  Jake  re- 
marked as  he  rose  from  the  ground.  "But  I 
'low  t'  point  won't  want  painting  t'  winter,"  he 
added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "Howsom- 
ever,  he's  a  good  one,  he  is,  wherever  he  be 
from,  and  I  don't  care  who  says  't  ain't  so  "  — 
high  praise  from  the  laconic  Jake. 


Nancy 

The  Water  Lily  was  at  anchor  when  we 
reached  the  wharf,  and  a  boat  already  rowing 
in  to  the  landing.  A  minute  later,  just  as  I  had 
expected,  Joe  was  wringing  me  by  the  hand,  as 
if  he  had  a  design  on  the  continuity  of  my 
bones. 

"Nancy's  bad,"  he  blurted  out.  "Won't  you 
come  and  see  her  to  oncet?" 

I  smiled  in  spite  of  my  anxiety  as  I  looked 
down  at  my  trusty  bag.  "I'm  all  ready,"  I 
replied. 

The  deck  of  the  schooner  was  crowded  with 
people  as  we  came  alongside.  The  main  hatch 
had  been  taken  off,  and  the  women  and  chil- 
dren had  come  up  for  an  airing.  They,  like  our 
friends,  were  taking  their  passages  home  from 
their  fishing  stations.  They  are  known  as 
"freighters." 

"The  skipper's  been  awful  good,  Doctor. 
When  he  heard  Nancy  were  sick,  he  brought 
her  out  of  t'  hold,  and  give  her  his  own  bunk. 
But  for  that  she'd  have  been  dead  long  ago. 
She  had  t'  fits  that  bad;  and  no  one  knowed 

what  to  do.  She  were  ill  when  t'  vessel  corned 

33 


Labrador  Days 

into  t*  harbour,  and  t*  skipper  waited  nigh 
three  days  till  she  seemed  able  to  come  along. 
Then  her  got  worse  again.  Not  a  thing  have 
passed  her  lips  this  two  days  now." 

In  the  little,  dark  after-cabin  I  found  the 
sick  girl,  scarcely  recognizable  as  the  bonny 
lass  whose  wedding  we  had  celebrated  the 
previous  whiter  with  such  rejoicings.  There 
were  two  young  women  in  the  cabin,  told  off  to 
"see  to  her,"  the  kindly  skipper  and  his  offi- 
cers having  vacated  their  quarters  and  gone 
forward  for  poor  Nancy's  benefit. 

The  case  was  a  plain  one.  It  was  a  matter  of 
life  and  death.  Before  morning  a  baby  boy  had 
been  brought  into  the  world  in  that  strange 
environment  only  to  live  a  few  hours.  The  fol- 
lowing day  we  ventured  to  move  the  mother, 
still  hanging  between  life  and  death,  to  the 
hospital. 

And  now  came  the  dilemma  of  our  lives.  It 
was  impossible  to  delay  the  schooner,  as  al- 
ready the  crowd  on  board  had  lost  several 
days;  and  it  was  not  safe  or  right  so  late  in  the 
year  to  be  keeping  these  other  families  from 

34 


Nancy 

their  homes.  The  Water  Lily,  so  the  kindly 
captain  informed  us,  must  absolutely  sail  south 
the  following  morning.  My  own  vessel  was  in 
the  same  plight.  We  had  more  work  outlined 
that  we  must  do  than  the  already  forming  ice 
promised  to  give  us  tune  to  accomplish.  To 
send  poor  Nancy  untended  to  sea  in  a  schooner 
was  simply  to  sign  her  death-warrant.  Indeed, 
I  had  small  hope  for  her  life  anyhow. 
[•  Our  hospital  was  on  the  coast  of  Labrador, 
and  the  remorseless  Straits  of  Belle  Isle 
yawned  forty  miles  wide  between  it  and  the 
nearest  point  of  the  island  home  of  most  of  our 
friends.  One  belated  vessel,  still  waiting  to  fin- 
ish loading,  lay  in  the  harbour.  She  expected  to 
be  a  week  yet,  and  possibly  ten  days  if  the 
weather  held  bad.  An  interview  with  the  skip- 
per resulted  in  a  promise  to  carry  the  sick 
woman  to  her  harbour  if  she  were  still  alive  on 
the  day  of  sailing,  or  news  of  her  death  if  she 
passed  away. 

Joe  had  no  alternative.  He  certainly  must  go 
on,  for  he  had  nothing  for  the  winter  with  him, 
no  gear,  and  no  way  of  procuring  any.  So  it  was 

35 


Labrador  Days 

agreed  that  Nancy  should  be  left  in  our  care, 
and,  if  alive,  should  follow  by  the  schooner. 
Only  poor  Nancy  was  undisturbed  next  morn- 
ing by  the  creaking  of  the  mast  hoops  and  the 
squealing  of  the  blocks  —  the  familiar  warning 
to  our  ears  that  a  vessel  is  leaving  for  sea.  For 
she  lay  utterly  unconscious  of  the  happenings 
of  the  outside  world,  hovering  between  life  and 
death  in  the  ward  upstairs, 
i  To  whatever  cause  we  ought  to  ascribe  it 
does  not  much  matter.  But  for  the  tune,  any- 
how, our  arrangements  "panned  out  right." 
The  weather  delayed  the  fish  vessel  till  our 
patient  was  well  enough  to  be  moved.  Ten  days 
later,  sewed  up  in  a  blanket  sleeping-bag, 
Nancy  was  painfully  carried  aboard  and  de- 
posited in  a  captain's  berth  —  again  most  gen- 
erously put  at  her  disposal. 

And  so  once  more  she  put  out  to  sea. 

It  was  not  until  the  next  spring  that  I  heard 
the  final  outcome  of  all  the  troubles.  Nancy 
had  arrived  home  in  safety,  with  only  one 
hitch  —  her  kit-bag  and  clothing  had  been 
forgotten  in  sailing,  and  when  at  length  she 

36 


Nancy 

reached  her  harbour,  she  had  had  to  be  carried 
up  to  her  home  swathed  only  in  a  bag  of 
blankets. 

Such  are  but  incidents  like  head  winds  in  the 
lives  of  the  Labrador  fisher-folk;  but  those 
who,  like  our  people,  are  taught  to  meet 
troubles  halfway  look  at  the  silver  lining  in- 
stead of  the  dark  cloud.  As  for  Joe  himself,  he 
is  still  unable  to  get  into  his  head  why  these 
events  should  be  of  even  passing  interest  to 
any  one  else. 


SALLY'S  "TURNS" 

"  SPIN  me  a  yarn,  Uncle  Eph.  I  'm  fairly  played 
out.  We've  been  on  the  go  from  daylight  and 
I'm  too  tired  to  write  up  the  day's  work." 

"A  yarn,  Doctor.  I'm  no  hand  at  yarns," 
said  the  master  of  the  spick-and-span  little  cot- 
tage at  which  I  and  my  dogs  had  brought  up 
for  the  night.  But  the  generously  served  sup- 
per, with  the  tin  of  milk  and  the  pot  of  berry 
jam,  kept  in  case  some  one  might  come  along, 
and  the  genial  features  of  my  hospitable  host, 
slowly  puffing  at  his  pipe  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fireplace,  made  me  boldly  insistent. 

"Oh,  not  anything  special,  Uncle  Eph,  just 
some  yarn  of  an  adventure  with  your  dogs  in 
the  old  days." 

Uncle  Eph  ruminated  for  quite  a  while,  but  I 
saw  by  the  solid  puffs  he  was  taking  at  his  pipe 
that  his  mind  was  working.  Then  a  big  smile, 
broader  than  ever,  lit  up  his  face,  and  he  said 
slowly:  $ 

"Well,  if  you're  so  minded,  I'll  tell  you  a 
38 


Sally's  Turns 

yarn  about  a  fellow  called  'Sally*  who  lived 
down  our  way  in  my  early  days." 

At  this  I  just  settled  down  comfortably  to 
listen. 

Of  course  Sally  was  only  a  nickname,  but  on 
our  coast  nicknames  last  a  man  all  his  life. 
Thus  my  last  patient,  a  woman  of  forty-odd 
years,  trying  to-day  to  identify  herself,  ex- 
plained, "Why,  you  must  know  my  father, 
Doctor.  He  be  called  'Powder'  —  'Mr.  Pow- 
der/ because  of  his  red  hair  and  whiskers." 

Sally's  proper  nickname  was  apparently 
"Chief,"  which  the  boys  had  given  him  be- 
cause he  had  been  a  regular  "Huck  Finn" 
among  the  others.  But  in  young  manhood  — 
some  said  it  was  because  "Marjorie  Sweetapple 
went  and  took  Johnnie  Barton  instead  o'  he" 
—  somehow  or  other  "Chief"  took  a  sudden 
"turn."  This  expression  on  our  coast  usually 
means  a  religious  "turn,"  or  a  turn  such  as 
people  take  when  "they  sees  something  and  be 
going  to  die";  it  may  be  a  ghost  or  sign.  But 
this  turn  was  neither.  It  was  just  a  plain  com- 
mon "turn." 

39 


Labrador  Days 

It  had  manifested  itself  in  "Chief"  by  his 
no  longer  going  about  with  the  other  boys,  by 
his  habits  becoming  solitary,  and  by  his  neg- 
lecting his  personal  appearance,  especially  in 
letting  his  very  abundant  hair  grow  longer 
than  fashion  dictates  for  the  young  manhood 
of  the  coast.  That  was  the  reason  some  wag  one 
day  dubbed  him  "Absalom,"  which  the  rest 
caught  up  and  soon  shortened  to  "Sally."  In 
the  proper  order  of  things  it  should  have  been 
"Abe."  Was  n't  Absalom  Sims  always  called 
"Abe"?  There  was  obviously  an  intentional 
tinge  of  satire  in  this  unusual  abbreviation. 

Whether  it  was  due  to  the  "turn"  or  not, 
the  fact  remained  that  at  the  advanced  age  of 
four  and  twenty  Sally  was  still  unmarried.  He 
lived  and  fished  and  hunted  mostly  alone.  No 
one,  therefore,  had  much  to  say  of  him,  good  or 
bad.  In  its  kindly  way  the  coast  just  left  him 
alone,  seeing  that  was  what  he  wished. 

As  the  years  went  by  it  happened  that  hard 
times  with  a  scarcity  of  food  struck  "Frying- 
Pan  Tickle,"  the  hospitable  name  of  the  cove 

where  Sally  was  reared.  Fish  were  scarce,  cape- 

40 


Sally's  Turns 

lin  never  struck  in,  fur  could  not  be  got.  This 
particular  season  every  kind  of  fur  had  been 
scarce.  A  forest  fire  had  driven  the  deer  into 
the  country  out  of  reach.  The  young  bachelor 
seals,  called  "bedlamers,"  that  precede  the 
breeding  herd  on  their  annual  southern  whelp- 
ing excursion,  and  normally  afford  us  a  much- 
needed  proteid  supply,  had  evidently  skipped 
their  visit  to  the  bay;  while  continuous  on- 
shore winds  made  it  impossible  in  small  boats 
to  intercept  the  mighty  rafts,  or  flocks,  of 
ducks  which  pass  south  every  fall.  As  a  rule 
the  ducks  "take  a  spell"  feeding  off  the  shoals 
and  islands  as  they  go  on  their  way,  but  the 
northeaster  had  robbed  our  larders  of  this  other 
supply  of  meat,  which  we  are  in  the  habit  of 
freezing  up  for  spring  use. 

In  spite  of  the  ice  jam,  packed  by  the  un- 
friendly winds,  the  men  had  ventured  to  set 
their  big  seal  nets  as  usual,  not  expecting  the 
long  persistence  of  "weather"  that  now  seri- 
ously endangered  their  recovery. 

The  time  to  move  to  the  winter  houses  up 

the  bay  had  already  passed,  and  so  the  men  at 

41 


Labrador  Days 

last  thought  best  to  go  on  and  get  them  ready 
and  then  come  out  once  more  to  haul  and  stow 
the  nets  and  carry  the  women  back  with 
them.  The  long-delayed  break  came  suddenly 
at  last,  with  a  blue  sky  and  a  bright,  calm 
morning,  but  alas!  no  wind  to  move  the 
packed-in  slob  ice.  So  there  was  no  help  for  it 
but  to  get  away  early  on  shanks'  pony,  if  they 
decided  to  go  on;  and  that  would  mean  they 
would  not  "reach  down"  before  dark.  There 
were  only  three  of  them,  but  they  were  all  fam- 
ily men:  Hezekiah  Black,  called  "Ky  ";  Joseph 
Stedman,  known  as  "Patsy,"  and  old  Uncle 
John  Sanborne.  They  got  under  way  bright 
and  early,  but  the  weather  clouded  up  soon 
after  they  left,  and  a  puff  or  two  of  wind 
should  have  warned  them  all  under  ordinary 
circumstances  to  abandon  the  attempt,  or  at 
least  to  branch  off  and  take  shelter  in  the 
"Featherbed  Tilt"  before  trying  to  cross  the 
White  Hills. 

As  it  was,  Uncle  John  decided  to  adopt  that 
plan,  leaving  the  younger  men,  whom  nothing 

would  dissuade  from   pushing   ahead.  After 

42 


Sally's  Turns 

all,  they  knew  every  turn  of  the  trail,  every 
rock  and  landmark  on  the  hillside;  and  one 
need  not  wonder  if  the  modern  spirit  of  "hus- 
tle" finds  an  echo  even  in  these  far-off  wilds. 
Throwing  precaution  to  the  winds,  the  two 
young  men  pushed  on  regardless  of  signs  and 
omens. 

Sally  just  knew  it.  Nothing  would  ever  con- 
vince him  that  they  did  not  deserve  to  get  into 
trouble  for  not  respecting  "signs."  Even  Uncle 
John  had  often  talked  about  "t*  foolishness  o* 
signs,"  and  many  a  time  Ky,  once  a  humble 
member  of  Chief's  followers,  had  laughed  at 
what  he  called  "old  women's  stuff."  But  what 
Sally  thought  of  signs  would  not  have  been  of 
any  interest  in  itself.  The  interesting  thing 
was  that  though  he  was  in  the  country  hunt- 
ing, having  moved  long  ago  to  his  winter  trap- 
ping-grounds, he  saw  signs  enough  to  make 
him  anxious  about  the  three  fathers  of  families 
tramping  over  the  bleak  hills  that  day.  When 
snow  began  to  fall  with  a  westerly  wind,  that 
was  sign  number  one.  Something  uncanny  was 
about  to  happen.  Then  there  was  sign  number 

43 


Labrador  Days 

two  of  bad  weather  coming,  namely,  the  tin- 
gling in  his  fingers  and  sometimes  "a  scattered 
pain  in  t*  joints."  So  Sally  left  his  fur-path  for 
the  day,  hurried  back  to  his  tiny  home  among 
the  trees,  and,  calling  his  dogs  together,  har- 
nessed them  quickly  and  started  at  once  for 
the  winter  houses  at  the  bottom  of  Grey  Wolf 
Bay. 

A  tenderfoot  could  have  told  now  that  they 
were  "in  for  weather."  The  snow  by  midday 
was  not  falling,  it  was  being  shovelled  down  in 
loads.  The  temperature  had  dropped  so  rap- 
idly that  the  flakes,  as  large  as  goose  feathers, 
were  dry  and  light,  a  fact  that  with  the  in- 
creasing wind  made  the  going  like  travelling 
through  a  seething  cauldron.  Unfortunately 
the  men  were  already  over  the  crest  of  the 
White  Hills  when  they  realized  that  the  storm 
which  had  swept  down  on  them  had  come  to 
stay.  There  was  no  stemming  the  gale  on  the 
wind-swept  ice  of  those  hillsides,  even  could 
they  have  faced  the  fiercely  driving  snow.  All 
they  could  do  was  to  hurry  along  before  it, 
knowing  there  would  be  no  shelter  for  them 

44 


Sally's  Turns 

till  they  reached  Frying-Pan  Tickle.  For  the 
forest  had  retired  there  beyond  the  hills  be- 
fore the  onslaught  of  man  and  the  careless- 
ness that  had  caused  forest  fires. 

No  one  who  has  not  been  through  it  has  any 
conception  of  the  innumerable  little  accidents 
which  in  circumstances  like  these  eat  up  the 
stock  of  chances  for  coming  through.  It  did 
seem  foolish  that  Patsy  got  his  mittens  wet  in 
salt  water  coming  through  the  broken  balli- 
cater  ice  as  they  tried  to  make  the  short  cut 
across  the  Maiden's  Arm;  and  that  they  froze 
while  he  was  trying  to  warm  his  hands,  so  that 
he  could  not  get  them  on  again.  It  sounds  like 
madness  on  Ky's  part  to  have  let  his  nor'- 
wester  cap  get  blown  away,  but  it  really  only 
fell  from  his  numbed  hands  while  he  was 
knocking  the  snow  off,  and  was  instantly  swept 
away  in  a  flurry  of  snow  in  the  darkness.  When 
the  beam  broke  in  his  snow  racquet,  one  of  a 
pair  he  had  absolutely  counted  on  as  beyond 
accident,  he  could  scarcely  get  ahead  at  all. 

To  stop  and  try  to  "boil  the  kettle"  would 

not  only  have  occupied  too  much  time,  but 

45 


Labrador  Days 

under  the  circumstances  making  a  fire  was 
practically  impossible.  Neither  of  the  men 
carried  a  watch,  and  the  unusual  darkness 
caused  by  the  thick  snow  made  it  impossible 
for  them  to  tell  what  progress  they  were  mak- 
ing. They  supposed  that  surely  between  the 
worst  snow  "dweys"  they  would  catch  sight 
of  some  familiar  leading  mark,  but  that 
proved  only  another  of  their  small  but  fatal 
miscalculations.  The  storm  never  did  let  up. 
More  than  once  they  discovered  they  were  out 
of  the  track,  and,  knowing  well  their  danger, 
had  grudgingly  to  sacrifice  time  and  strength 
in  groping  their  way  back  to  a  spot  where  they 
could  recognize  the  trail  again. 

December  days  are  short,  anyhow,  "down 
north"  and  every  moment  warned  them  that 
the  chances  of  getting  out  before  dark  were 
rapidly  diminishing.  All  the  strength  and  en- 
durance of  which  they  were  capable  were  un- 
stintingly  utilized  to  get  ahead;  but  when 
night  finally  overtook  them,  they  knew  well 
that  there  were  several  miles  to  go,  while  to 

move  ahead  meant  almost  certainly  losing  the 

46 


Sally's  Turns 

trail,  which  inevitably  spelt  death.  It  was  only 
the  whiter  before  that  Jake  Newman,  of  Rog- 
ers Cove,  left  his  own  home  after  dinner,  "just 
to  fetch  in  a  load  of  wood,"  and  he  was  n't 
found  till  three  days  later,  buried  in  snow  not 
two  hundred  yards  from  his  front  door,  frozen 
to  death.  But  if  to  advance  meant  death,  to 
stop  moving  was  equally  dangerous.  So  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  keep  moving  round  and 
round  a  big  rock  in  hopes  of  living  out  the  long, 
terrible  night.  ;• 

Meanwhile  Sally  was  under  way.  Though  he 
knew  that  the  men  were  crazy  to  get  back,  it 
was  only  his  surmise  that  they  had  started,  so  he 
had  to  call  round  at  the  winter  cottages  in  the 
bay  to  make  sure.  He  realized  full  well  it  was 
a  man's  job  he  was  about  to  undertake,  and 
had  no  wish  to  attempt  it  unnecessarily.  As 
he  expected,  however,  he  found  that  the 
houses  were  all  shut  up,  and  such  tracks  as 
there  were  on  the  snow  about  the  trail  end 
showed  quite  clearly  three  men's  footmarks. 
"Uncle  John's  gone  with  t'  others,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.  "I  'low  't  is  t'  last  journey 

47 


Labrador  Days 

some  of  'em '11  make,  unless  they  minded  the 
signs  before  too  late.  'T  is  lucky  that  I  had  n't 
left  old  Surefoot  at  t'  tilt;  more'n  likely  I 
shall  be  needing  he  before  t'  night's  out."  And 
he  called  his  one  earthly  chum  and  constant 
companion  to  him,  rubbed  his  head,  and  made 
him  nose  the  men's  tracks  which  he  was  about 
to  follow. 

In  spite  of  his  nickname,  Sally  was  no  green- 
horn on  occasions  like  this.  Every  harness  was 
carefully  gone  over,  every  trace  tested;  the 
runners  and  cross-bars  of  his  komatik  all  came 
in  for  a  critical  overhauling.  The  contents  of 
the  nonnybag  were  amply  replenished;  the 
matches  in  the  water-tight  bottle  were  tested 
for  dampness;  his  small  compass  was  securely 
lashed  to  the  chain  of  his  belt.  His  one  bottle 
of  spirits,  "kept  against  sickness,"  was  care- 
fully stowed  with  the  tea  and  hardtack.  A 
bundle  of  warm  wraps,  with  his  axe,  and  even 
a  few  dry  splits,  completed  his  equipment. 
Then  once  more  Surefoot  was  shown  the 
tracks  on  the  threshold,  the  trailing  loops  of 

the  traces  were  hitched  on  their  respective 

48 


Sally's  Turns 

toggles,  the  stern  line  was  slipped,  and  away 
went  his  sturdy  team  into  the  darkness. 

That  animals  have  a  sense  of  direction  that 
man  has  lost  is  clearly  proven  by  the  seals, 
birds,  polar  bears,  and  our  northern  migra- 
tory animals  generally,  who  every  year  follow 
in  their  season  the  right  trails  to  their  des- 
tinations, even  though  thousands  of  miles  dis- 
tant and  over  pathless  seas  or  trackless  snows 
and  barrens.  That  instinct  is  nowhere  more 
keenly  developed  than  in  our  draught  dogs; 
and  amongst  these  there  are  always  now  and 
again,  as  in  human  relationships,  those  that 
are  peerless  among  their  fellows.  Surefoot's 
name,  like  Sally's  own,  was  not  strictly  his 
baptismal  cognomen,  the  original  name  of 
"Whitefoot"  having  been  relegated  to  oblivion 
early  in  life  owing  to  some  clever  trail-follow- 
ing the  pup  had  achieved. 

Many  men  would  face  an  aeroplane  flight 
with  a  sinking  sensation.  Many  would  have  to 
acknowledge  some  qualms  on  a  start  with 
"mere  dogs"  in  a  blizzard  like  this  one.  But 
Sally,  unemotional  as  a  statue  and  serene  as  a 

49 


Labrador  Days 

judge,  knew  his  pilot  too  well  to  worry,  and, 
stretched  out  full  length  on  the  sledge,  occu- 
pied himself  with  combating  the  snow  in  be- 
tween "spells"  of  hauling  the  komatik  out  of 
hopeless  snowbanks.  "It  won't  do  to  pass 
the  Featherbed  without  making  sure  them's 
not  there,"  thought  Sally.  "If  Ky  had  any 
wits  about  him,  he'd  never  try  the  Hanging 
Marshes  a  night  like  this."  So  when  at  last  the 
team  actually  divided  round  the  leading  mark- 
pole,  Surefoot  having  rubbed  his  side  on  it,  so 
straight  had  he  travelled  even  in  that  inferno, 
Sally  leaped  off  immediately,  and,  following 
the  line  of  poles,  was  cheered  to  see  sparks  is- 
suing from  the  snug  tilt  among  the  trees.  But 
alas,  there  was  only  one  man,  old  Uncle  John, 
resting  there  safely  when  Sally  came  tumbling 
in.  The  cheerful  wood  fire,  the  contrast  of  the 
warmth  and  quiet  with  the  howling  and  dark- 
ness of  the  storm  outside,  called  loudly  to 
every  physical  faculty  to  stay  for  the  night. 

"Where  be  them  gone?"  queried  Sally  as 
soon  as  the  old  man  had  roused  himself 
enough  to  understand  the  sudden  interrup- 

50 


Sally's  Turns 

lion.  "Where's  Ky  and  Patsy?  I  thought  you 
was  all  together  by  t'  tracks." 

"  So  we  was,  so  we  was,  boy.  But  them 's  gone 
on,  while  I  thought  I'd  bide  till  daylight." 

The  loud  wail  of  the  dogs  in  chorus,  as  they 
chafed  at  being  left  out  of  sight  or  knowledge 
of  their  master's  whereabouts,  was  plainly 
audible  to  both  men,  and  suggested  the  cruel 
bleakness  of  the  night  outside. 

"Youse  isn't  going  on  to  look  for  Jem,  is 
you?  There  be  no  chance  of  doing  nothing  a 
night  like  this,"  added  the  old  man. 

But  Sally  was  in  another  world.  He  could 
see  the  two  men  adrift  and  trying  to  keep  life  in 
themselves  on  the  White  Hills  just  as  plainly 
as  the  cry  made  him  see  his  beloved  dogs  call- 
ing to  him  from  the  exposed  trail  outside. 

"There'll  be  nothing  left  anyhow  to  do  by 
morning,  Uncle  John,"  he  answered.  "Look 
after  yourself  well  and  keep  t'  fire  in;  maybe 
I'll  be  back  sooner  than  us  expects.  Good- 
night to  you."  And  Sally  disappeared  once 
more  into  the  night. 

They  were  still  alive  when  Surefoot  found 
51 


Labrador  Days 

them,  though  far  more  played  out  than  one 
would  suppose  strong  men  could  be  in  so  short 
a  time.  The  extra  wraps  were  at  once  requi- 
sitioned, a  ration  from  the  spirit  flask  was 
rapidly  given  to  each,  and  then,  forcing  them  to 
sit  down  on  the  sledge,  Sally  again  encouraged 
Surefoot  to  take  the  trail.  Downhill,  they 
managed  to  move  along,  but  the  heavy  thatch 
of  snow  made  progress  difficult  on  the  level 
and  almost  impossible  uphill,  just  when  ex- 
haustion made  marching  impracticable  even 
with  a  line  from  the  sledge  lashed  to  their 
arms.  Sally  found  his  last  device  unavailable. 
The  men  must  get  off  for  the  uphill  work,  and 
that  is  what  it  became  increasingly  impossible 
for  them  to  do. 

Apparently  Ky  was  the  worse  off.  He  did  n't 
seem  to  know  what  was  going  on.  Sally  no- 
ticed that  his  hat  had  gone  and  thought  his 
head  was  freezing,  so  without  hesitation  he 
covered  it  with  his  own  warm  nor'wester.  Ky 
lay  mostly  on  the  komatik  now,  and  it  took  all 
Sally's  strength  and  such  little  aid  as  Patsy 
could  give  to  enable  the  dogs  to  haul  up  the 

52 


Sally's  Turns 

Frenchman's  Leap,  usually  nearly  perpendicu- 
lar, but  now  fortunately  sloped  off  by  the 
heavy  drift.  Each  man  had  to  take  a  trace 
ahead  and  haul  exactly  like  two  big  dogs,  thus 
strengthening  the  team.  At  last  the  komatik 
topped  the  brow  and  was  once  more  coming 
along  after  them.  But  Patsy  was  so  played  out 
that  Sally  drove  him  back  to  the  sledge,  hop- 
ing that  the  dogs  could  now  haul  the  two  men 
again.  To  his  horror  on  reaching  the  komatik 
he  found  the  real  cause  of  its  running  so  much 
more  easily.  Ky  was  gone.  Probably  he  had 
only  just  slipped  off.  He  would  go  back  and 
look  for  hmi.  But  then  he  would  lose  the  dogs. 
Patsy  was  too  lost  to  the  world  to  understand 
anything  or  to  help.  If  he  went  back  alone  the 
dogs  might  follow  and  he  would  lose  Patsy  as 
well.  Still  he  must  try  it.  Halting  the  dogs  he 
turned  the  komatik  over,  driving  the  upturned 
nose  of  the  runners  deep  into  the  snow;  then 
he  laid  Patsy  on  the  top,  and,  lashing  him  on, 
finally  began  groping  back  down  the  steep  rise 
for  the  missing  man. 

Not  a  sign  was  to  be  found;  any  traces  he 
53 


Labrador  Days 

had  left  were  not  only  invisible,  but  impossi- 
ble to  feel,  though  he  took  off  his  mittens  to 
try.  The  pitiless,  driving  snow  instantly  lev- 
elled off  every  mark.  How  long  dare  he  de- 
lay? He  remembered  at  last  that  even  if  he 
found  hmi  he  could  do  no  good.  He  could 
never  carry  him  up  the  hill.  But  he  had  tried 
—  had  done  his  best  and  his  conscience  felt 
easier.  And  then  there  was  Patsy.  He  might 
save  Patsy  yet.  It  was  right  he  should  go  on. 
Fortunately  the  dogs  were  giving  tongue 
when  he  crawled  and  stumbled  once  more  up 
the  Leap.  They  knew  their  master  had  left 
them  and  had  come  back  to  the  komatik  to 
wait.  Some  of  them  were  huddled  up  against 
the  motionless  body  of  the  man.  Surefoot,  bolt 
upright  on  the  topmost  bend,  was  leading  the 
chorus.  The  komatik  had  to  be  extricated  and 
righted.  Patsy  was  still  breathing.  His  body 
must  be  re-lashed  on  the  right  side;  and  then 
once  more  the  weary  march  began  —  the  march 
that  was  a  battle  for  every  inch. 

Of  the  remainder  of  the  journey  Sally  never 
had  much  remembrance.  It  was  like  a  moving 

54 


Sally's  Turns 

dream  —  he  knew  it  was  crowded  with  adven- 
tures, but  the  details  had  vanished  completely 
from  his  ken.  It  was  his  old  father  who  told 
the  remainder  of  the  story.  He  had  turned  into 
bed  as  usual,  never  dreaming  any  man  was 
astir  on  such  a  night  as  that.  He  was  sleeping 
the  sleep  of  the  righteous  when  he  suddenly  be- 
came conscious  of  dogs  howling.  Even  dogs 
would  not  be  out  unless  they  were  in  harness  on 
such  a  night.  His  own  dogs  he  knew  were  safely 
barred  into  then*  kennels  after  being  fed  at 
sundown.  For  a  few  minutes  he  lay  awake  and 
listened.  The  sounds  came  no  nearer,  but  they 
were  quite  distinct.  There  was  something  astir 
in  the  darkness  —  something  uncanny.  Sally 
would  have  called  it  a  "sign."  Uneasily  he 
arose  and  lit  the  lamp.  He  could  not  hear  a 
soul  stirring.  Even  the  howling  of  the  dogs  had 
ceased.  Nothing  but  the  noise  of  the  house 
creaking  and  groaning  under  the  wind  pressure 
was  discernible.  And  then,  just  as  the  bitter 
cold,  dark,  and  loneliness  made  him  long  to 
get  into  his  warm  bed  again,  the  wail  of  a  lone 

dog  was  distinctly  audible.  Uncle  Eben,  pull- 

55 


Labrador  Days 

ing  the  lamp  safely  out  of  the  draught,  opened 
a  crack  of  the  porch  door  only  to  be  saluted  by 
a  rush  of  cold  wind  and  snow  which  nearly 
swept  him  off  his  feet.  But  again  clearer  than 
before  came  the  wail  of  the  dog. 

"He  must  be  hitched  up  by  mistake  or  in 
harness,"  he  thought.  "I  'low  I'll  fire  a  powder 
gun." 

Going  back  into  the  bedroom,  the  old  man 
warned  his  wife  that  he  was  going  to  shoot  and 
not  to  be  frightened.  Then  taking  his  old  muz- 
zle-loader, which  was  always  kept  ready,  from 
among  the  lesser  weapons  which  stood  in  the 
gun-rack,  he  poked  the  muzzle  through  the 
crack  and  fired  it  into  the  air.  True  he  had 
thought  there  might  be  some  one  adrift.  But 
even  a  prophet  could  not  have  imagined  that 
what  did  happen  could  have  done  so.  For  the 
sound  of  the  explosion  had  not  done  echoing 
through  the  empty  rooms  before  the  door  was 
burst  suddenly  in  by  some  heavy  body  falling 
against  it.  The  thud  of  some  weighty  mass 
falling  on  the  floor  was  all  that  Uncle  Eben 

could  make  out,  for  the  gust  through  the  wide- 

56 


Sally's  Turns 

open  door  at  once  extinguished  the  light.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  huge  bird  must  have  been 
hovering  overhead  and  have  fallen  to  the 
charge  of  the  big  gun.  The  door  must  be  shut 
at  all  costs,  and  shut  at  once;  so  Uncle  Eben, 
stooping  to  feel  his  way  over  the  fallen  object, 
put  his  hands  out  to  find  where  it  lay  in  the 
darkness.  Instantly  he  recognized  the  body  of 
a  man  —  a  man  alive  too,  but  apparently  un- 
able to  speak  or  move.  Like  lightning  he  had 
the  door  closed.  The  vigour  of  youth  seemed 
to  leap  into  his  old  veins.  The  light  was  soon 
burning  again,  to  reveal  to  him  the  prostrate 
body  of  j  his  own  son,  ice-covered  from  head 
to  foot,  his  hatless  head  like  a  great  snow 
cannon-ball,  his  face  so  iced  up  that  it 
was  scarcely  recognizable.  No  —  he  was  un- 
wounded  and  there  was  life  in  him.  "I  had 
just  to  thaw  his  head  out  first,"  Uncle  Eben 
said,  "and  then  us  rubbed  him  and  got  some- 
thing down  his  throat.  He  roused  himself,  got 
up,  and  told  us  his  dogs  must  be  snarled  up  in 
t*  woodpile  on  the  hillside,  only  a  few  minutes 
away,  and  he  kept  signing  that  there  were 

57 


Labrador  Days 

a  man,  possibly  still  alive,  lashed  on  t'  ko- 
matik."  It  was  no  night  for  the  old  man  to  go 
out.  "He'd  be  dead,  bless  you,"  before  he  got 
anywhere;  and  it  seemed  impossible  to  let 
Sally  go  out  again.  The  stranger  must  surely 
be  dead  long  ago.  But,  weak  as  he  was,  Sally 
would. go.  He  could  stand  now  and  was  once 
more  blundering  toward  the  door.  To  live  and 
think  he  had  let  a  man  perish  alongside  was 
as  impossible  to  one  man  as  to  the  other. 

It  was  Uncle  Eben  who  solved  the  problem. 
There  were  a  dozen  balls  of  stout  seal  twine 
lying  in  the  locker.  The  old  man,  unable 
longer  to  haul  wood  or  drive  dogs  himself, 
spent  much  of  his  time  knitting  up  gear  for 
the  boys.  He  put  on  Sally  his  own  cap,  coat, 
and  mits,  tied  the  twine  round  his  wrist,  and 
then  let  him  out  to  find  the  komatik  again  if 
he  could;  while  if  he  fell  exhausted  Uncle  Eben 
could  at  least  follow  the  line  and  perhaps  get 
him  back  again. 

As  events  turned  out  they  were  justified  in 
making  the  attempt.  The  cold  wind  served 
only  as  a  lash  to  Sally's  reserve  strength  and 

58 


Sally's  Turns 

his  grit.  That  night  he  certainly  found  himself 
again.  He  reached  the  sledge,  cut  the  traces  he 
could  not  disentangle,  and,  keeping  Surefoot 
by  him,  he  cleared  the  komatik  of  the  wood- 
pile. Once  more  he  hitched  in  the  dogs,  which 
he  knew  would  make  straight  for  the  house, 
while  he  piloted  down  that  last  hillside. 

Patsy  got  well  again,  though  his  toes  and 
fingers  alike  were  badly  burned.  Ky  was  not 
found  till  a  few  days  later.  He  had  evidently 
wandered  to  the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  which  near 
the  Jump  fall  perpendicularly  a  hundred  feet 
on  to  the  rocky  beach  below,  and  had  slipped 
over  in  the  darkness. 

Uncle  Eben's  shot  had  passed  almost  im- 
mediately over  Sally's  head.  He  remembers 
being  unable  to  free  the  dogs,  realizing  he  was 
close  home,  and  stumbling  on  for  only  a  minute 
or  two  before  something  exploded  just  above 
him;  then  he  recalls  nothing  till  Uncle  Eben 
had  thawed  out  the  touselly  head  and  rubbed 
back  the  circulation  into  the  frozen  limbs. 

The  slur  so  obviously  intentional  in  the  old 
59 


Labrador  Days 

nickname  made  it  impossible  for  any  one  to 
use  it  longer.  It  was  unanimously  agreed  that 
he  had  established  most  surely  his  right  to  his 
old  name  of  "Chief,"  and  by  this  for  many 
years  he  was  known.  With  the  lapse  of  years 
and  the  advent  of  grey  hairs,  even  that  was 
gradually  recognized  as  too  familiar,  and  he 
received  the  cognomen  of  "Uncle,"  the  title 
of  endearment  of  the  coast,  attached  to  his 
own  name  of  Ephraim.  Moreover,  this  proved 
to  be  the  last  of  Sally's  "turns,"  for  the  long 
hair  and  the  lonely  habits  disappeared.  The 
barrier  that  had  grown  up  between  him  and  his 
fellows  vanished,  as  they  always  do  before  the 
warmth  of  unselfish  deeds  —  and  the  next  time 
"Chief"  asked  a  girl  the  fateful  question,  there 
proved  to  be  no  Johnnie  Barton  in  his  way. 

"Is  Sally  living  still?"  I  asked,  my  keenness 
of  interpretation  obscured  by  weariness  or  by 
interest  in  the  details. 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  alive  all  right,"  replied  my 
host  —  and  my  mind  at  once  apologized,  as  I 
realized  he  had  been  telling  me  the  story  of  his 
own  early  life. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  BIG  FEE 

A  CROWD  of  visitors  had  landed  from  the  fort- 
nightly mail  boat,  and  had  come  up  to  see  the 
sights  of  our  little  harbour  while  our  mails  and 
freight  were  being  landed  and  the  usual  two 
hours  were  allowed  to  collect  and  put  aboard 
any  return  packages  or  letters.  The  island  on 
which  the  station  stands  is  a  very  small  one, 
attractions  are  naturally  few,  and  custom  has 
reconciled  us  to  the  experience,  strange  enough 
at  first,  of  being  included  in  the  list  of 
"sights." 

A  nice,  cheerful  group  had  just  "done  the 
hospital"  and  its  appendages,  and  were  rest- 
ing on  the  rocky  hilltop,  after  seeing  the  winter 
dog-team  and  examining  the  hospital  reser- 
voir. The  ever-recurrent  questions  had  been 
asked,  and  patiently  answered  —  yes,  the  ice 
was  cold,  but  not  always  wet;  the  glare  of  the 
snow  was  hard  on  the  eyes;  dogs  do  delight  to 
bite;  and  so  on.  Conversation  flagged  a  little 

till  some  one  enquired  the  names  of  the  head- 

61 


Labrador  Days 

lands  and  bays  stretching  away  in  succession 
beneath  our  view. 

"It  all  looks  so  grim  and  cold,  and  the  peo- 
ple seem  so  scattered  and  so  poor.  Surely  they 
can't  pay  a  doctor's  fees?"  some  one  asked. 

"That  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  a  fee. 
We  don't  expect  to  get  blood  out  of  a  stone." 

"Is  all  your  work  done  for  nothing,  then?" 

"No,  not  exactly  for  nothing.  There  is  no 
produce  of  the  coast  which  has  not  been  used 
to  express  gratitude,  and  'to  help  the  hospital 
along.'  Codfish  is  a  common  fee.  Sealskins, 
venison,  wild  ducks,  beadwork,  embroidered 
skinwork,  feathers,  firewood  —  nothing  is  too 
bizarre  to  offer." 

"Do  they  never  pay  money?" 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  Of  late  years,  a  little  more 
each  year.  But  when  we  began  work,  they 
practically  never  got  any  with  which  to  pay. 
The  fur-trading  companies  settled  in  kind, 
values  were  often  measured,  not  by  so  many 
dollars,  but  by  so  many  pelts.  The  traders  gave 
out  supplies  on  credit,  took  the  fish  or  fur  from 

their  planters  in  return,  and  made  up  the  bal- 

62 


The  Doctor's  Big  Fee 

ance,  when  there  was  any,  in  goods.  Even  bar- 
ter was  quite  unusual,  though  some  traders 
had  a  'cash  price'  for  produce  paid  down  at 
once,  besides  the  credit  price." 

"Do  you  think  it  a  sound  policy  to  be  pro- 
viding services,  drugs,  and  nursing  free?" 
chimed  in  a  grey-bearded  old  fellow,  evidently 
the  philosopher  of  the  party. 

"Sometimes,  sir,  policies  must  be  adopted 
which  are  rendered  necessary  for  the  time  by 
conditions.  Besides,  as  I  have  said,  the  people 
pay  what  they  can,  and,  after  all,  it  is  they  who 
catch  the  fish  and  fur,  reaping  harvests  for  the 
world's  benefit  —  for  not  much  return." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  that  you  don't  do  it  for 
nothing,  anyhow.  That  would  be  an  imposi- 
tion on  the  workers  as  well  as  on  the  subscrib- 
ers." 

The  old  gentleman  seemed  a  bit  disgruntled, 
so  I  ventured  to  put  my  viewpoint  in  a  differ- 
ent way. 

"Do  you  see  that  steep,  rocky  cape  over 
there?"  I  asked.  "It  is  the  most  northerly  you 
can  distinguish." 

63 


Labrador  Days 

"A  great  landmark,  and  worth  the  journey 
up  here  only  to  look  at  it,"  he  answered  with 
an  enthusiasm  which  showed  that  he  had  a 
tender  spot  for  Nature's  beauties,  and  that 
even  if  the  shell  was  hard,  the  kernel  was  soft. 

"There  is  a  little  village  just  behind  that 
head.  It  is  hidden  away  in  a  rift  in  the  moun- 
tain which  forms  a  tiny  cove  for  a  safe  anchor- 
age. I  had  as  big  a  fee  there  only  two  days  ago 
as  ever  I  received  when  I  was  practising  hi 
London." 

The  company  looked  up  in  astonishment, 
but  like  Brer  Rabbit,  I  lay  low  to  see  if  they 
cared  for  an  explanation.  I  thought  I  saw  a 
twinkle  hi  my  critic's  eye  as  it  caught  mine. 

"Go  ahead,"  was  all  that  he  said,  however. 

Deep- Water  "Crik,"  we  call  it.  About  half 
a  dozen  fishermen's  families  live  there.  Well, 
three  days  ago  a  boat  came  over  at  daylight  to 
see  if  they  could  get  a  doctor,  and  I  was  debat- 
ing as  to  the  advisability  of  leaving  the  hospi- 
tal, when  an  old  skipper  from  a  schooner  in  the 

harbour  came  ashore  to  tell  me:  "It'st'  old 

64 


The  Doctor's  Big  Fee 

Englishman;  Uncle  Solomon  they  calls  him. 
He's  had  a  bad  place  this  twelvemonth." 

"How's  the  wind  outside?" 

"Soldier's  wind.  Abeam  both  ways." 

"Think  I  could  get  back  to-night?" 

"Yes,  by  after  dark." 

"Let's  get  right  away,  then." 

But  other  calls  delayed  us,  and  it  was  nearly 
midday  before  we  started  for  the  cape.  Un- 
fortunately, the  wind  veered  as  the  sun  sank, 
and  "headed"  us  continually.  The  northern 
current  was  running  strong,  and  it  was  just 
"duckish"  when  at  last  we  entered  the  creek. 

The  former  glories  of  Deep- Water  Creek 
have  passed  away.  Fortune  has  decreed  that 
seals  and  mackerel  and  even  salmon  to  a  large 
extent  should  not  "strike  in"  along  that 
shore.  Bad  seasons  and  the  wretched  trading 
system  have  impoverished  the  fishermen, 
while  the  opening  of  the  southern  mines  has 
taken  away  some  of  the  most  able-bodied. 
Here  and  there  a  braver  cottage  still  boasts  a 
coat  of  whitewash  and  a  mixture  of  cod  oil  and 
red  dust  on  the  roof.  But  for  the  most  part 

65 


Labrador  Days 

there  is  a  sombre,  dejected  look  about  the  hu- 
man part  of  the  harbour  that  suggests  nothing 
but  sordid  poverty. 

It  had  commenced  to  rain,  and  we  were  wet, 
cold,  and  feeling  generally  blue  as  we  landed 
at  a  small  fish  stage,  whose  very  cleanliness 
helped  further  to  depress  us,  telling  as  it  did 
the  tale  of  a  bad  "voyage."  For  now  it  ought 
to  have  reeked  of  fish  and  oil;  and  piles  of  cod 
heads,  instead  of  the  cleanest  of  cold  water, 
should  have  covered  the  rocks  beneath.  So 
many  of  our  troubles  are  due  to  deficient  die- 
tary, winter  was  already  on  our  heels,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  the  shadow  of  hunger  in  the  very 
air. 

As  soon,  however,  as  we  landed,  a  black- 
bearded,  bright-faced  man  of  about  fifty  gave 
us  a  hearty  greeting,  and  such  evident  happi- 
ness lit  up  his  peculiarly  piercing  eyes  that  it 
made  us  feel  a  little  more  cheerful,  even  before 
he  had  taken  us  into  his  house.  There  we  found 
a  cup  of  steaming  hot  tea  prepared.  That  tea 
did  not  seem  a  whit  less  sweet,  because  "there 
be  ne'er  a  drop  o'  milk  in  t'  harbour,  Doctor, 

66 


The  Doctor's  Big  Fee 

and  molasses  be  scarce,  too,  till  t*  fish  be 
dry." 

Everything  was  so  clean  that  you  could  have 
eaten  off  the  floor.  The  pots  and  pans  and  tin 
cooking-utensils  shone  so  brightly  from  the 
walls  that  the  flame  of  the  tiny  kerosene  lamp, 
reflected  from  so  many  sides  at  once,  suggested 
ten  hundredfold  the  candle-power  it  possessed. 
A  museumful  of  treasures  could  not  have 
added  to  the  charm  of  the  simplicity  of  the 
room,  which,  though  small,  was  ever  so  cosy 
compared  with  the  surroundings  outside. 
Three  children  were  playing  on  the  hearth 
with  a  younger  man,  evidently  their  father. 

"No,  Doctor,  they  aren't  ours  exactly," 
replied  our  host,  in  answer  to  my  question, 
"but  us  took  Sam  as  our  own  when  he  was 
born,  and  his  mother  lay  dead,  and  he've  been 
with  us  ever  since.  Those  be  his  little  ones. 
You  remember  Kate,  his  wife,  what  died  in  the 
hospital?" 

Yes,  I  remembered  her  very  well,  and  the 
struggle  we  had  had  in  trying  to  save  her. 

"Skipper  John,"  I  said  as  soon  as  tea  was 
67 


Labrador  Days 

over,  "let's  get  out  and  see  the  old  English- 
man. He'll  be  tired  waiting." 

"  Youse  need  n't  go  out,  Doctor.  He  be  up- 
stairs in  bed." 

So  upstairs,  or  rather  up  the  ladder,  we 
went,  to  find  the  oddest  arrangement,  and  yet 
far  the  most  sensible  under  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances. "Upstairs"  was  the  triangular 
space  between  the  roof  and  the  ceiling  of  the 
ground  floor.  At  each  end  was  a  tiny  window, 
and  the  whole,  windows  included,  had  been 
divided  longitudinally  by  a  single  thickness  of 
hand-sawn  lumber,  up  to  the  tiny  cross-beams. 
There  was  no  lofting,  and  both  windows  were 
open,  so  that  a  cool  breeze  was  blowing  right 
through.  Cheerfulness  was  given  by  a  bright 
white  paper  which  had  been  pasted  on  over 
everything.  Home-made  rag  mats  covered  the 
planed  boards.  At  one  end  a  screen  of  cheese- 
cloth veiled  off  the  corner.  Sitting  bolt  upright 
on  a  low  bench,  and  leaning  against  the  par- 
tition, was  a  very  aged-looking  woman,  staring 
fixedly  in  front  of  her,  and  swaying  forwards 
and  backwards  like  some  whirling  Dervish.  She 

68 


The  Doctor's  Big  Fee 

ceaselessly  monotoned  what  was  intended  for 
a  hymn. 

"The  old  gentleman  sleeps  over  there,"  said 
the  skipper  with  his  head  just  above  the  floor 
level.  He  indicated  the  screened  corner,  and 
then  bobbed  down  and  disappeared,  being  far 
too  courteous  a  man  to  intrude. 

The  old  lady  took  no  notice  whatever  as  I 
approached.  No  head  was  visible  among  the 
rude  collection  of  bedclothes  which,  with  a 
mattress  on  the  boards,  served  for  the  bed. 

"Uncle  Solomon,  it's  the  Doctor,"  I  called. 

The  mass  of  clothes  moved,  and  a  trembling 
old  hand  came  out  to  meet  mine. 

"Not  so  well,  Uncle  Solomon?  No  pain,  I 
hope?" 

"No  pain,  Doctor,  thank  t*  good  Lord  — 
and  Skipper  John,"  he  added.  "He  took  us  in, 
Doctor,  when  t*  old  lady  and  I  were  starving." 

The  terrible  cancer  in  spite  of  which  his 
iron  constitution  still  kept  him  alive  had  so 
extended  its  fearful  ravages  that  the  reason 
for  the  veiled  corner  was  at  once  apparent, 

and  also  the  effective  measures  for  ventilation. 

69 


Labrador  Days 

The  old  lady  had  now  caught  the  meaning  of 
my  presence.  "He  suffers  a  lot,  Doctor,  though 
he  won't  say  it.  If  it  was  n't  for  me  singing  to 
him,  I  don't  know  how  he  would  bear  up." 
And,  strangely  enough,  even  I  had  noticed  the 
apparent  descent  from  an  odd,  dreamy  state 
to  crude  realities,  as  the  old  lady  abandoned 
her  droning,  and  talked  of  symptoms. 

"But,  Aunt  Anne,"  I  said,  "you  can't  keep 
it  up  all  night  as  weU  as  all  day?  " 

"No,  not  exactly,  Doctor,  but  I  mostly 
sleeps  very  little."  And  to  my  no  small  aston- 
ishment she  now  shut  up  like  an  umbrella,  and 
at  once  recommenced  her  mesmeric  monotone. 

When  the  interview  was  over,  and  all  my 
notes  made  and  lines  of  action  decided,  I  still 
did  not  feel  like  moving.  I  was  standing  in  a 
brown  study  when  I  heard  the  skipper's  voice 
calling  me. 

"Be  you  through,  Doctor?  There  be  two  or 
three  as  wants  to  see  you,"  it  said;  but  it 
meant,  "Is  there  anything  wrong?"  The  long 
silence  might  mean  that  the  sight  had  been 

too  much  for  me. 

70 


The  Doctor's  Big  Fee 

"There's  no  hurry,  Doctor,"  it  hastened  to 
add,  for  his  quick  ear  had  caught  the  noise  of 
my  start  as  I  came  to  earth  again. 

"What  can  be  the  meaning  of  it  all?"  I  was 
pondering.  Is  there  any  more  explanation  to 
the  riddle  of  life  than  to  Alice  in  Wonderland? 
Are  we  not  all  a  lot  of  "slithy  toves,  that  gyre 
and  gimble  in  the  wabe"  — or  worse?  Must  we 
who  love  living  only  regard  it  as  one  long 
tragedy? 

The  clinic  of  Skipper  John's  lower  room  in- 
cluded one  or  two  pathetic  tales,  and  evidently 
my  face  showed  discouragement,  but  I  confess 
I  was  surprised  when  the  last  poor  creature  had 
left,  to  find  my  host's  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"You'll  be  wanting  a  good  hot  cup  o'  tea,  I 
knows,  Doctor.  And  t'  wife 's  made  you  a  bit  o' 
toast,  and  a  taste  o'  hot  berry  jam.  We  are  so 
grateful  you  corned,  Doctor.  T'  poor  old  crea- 
tures won't  last  long.  But  thanks  are  n't  dol- 
lars." 

At  that  minute  his  happy,  optimistic  eyes 
chanced  to  meet  mine.  They  seemed  like  good, 
deep  water,  and  just  for  a  second  the  thought 

71 


Labrador  Days 

crossed  my  mind  that  perhaps  he  knew  more 
of  the  real  troubles  of  life  than  his  intellectual 
opportunities  might  suggest. 

"No,  Skipper,"  was  all  I  said.  "We  doctors, 
anyhow,  find  them  quite  as  scarce." 

"Well,  Doctor,"  he  added,  "please  God  if  I 
gets  a  skin  t*  winter  I  '11  try  and  pay  you  for 
your  visit,  anyhow.  But  I  has  n't  a  cent  in  the 
world  just  now.  The  old  couple  has  taken  the 
little  us  had  put  by."  • 

"  Skipper  John,  what  relation  are  those  peo- 
ple to  you?" 
,"Well,  Doctor,  no  relation  'zactly."< 

"Do  they  pay  nothing  at  all?" 

"Them  has  nothing,"  he  replied. 

"Why  did  you  take  them  in?"  i 

"They  was  homeless,  Doctor,  and  the  old 
lady  was  already  blind." 

"How  long  have  they  been  with  you?" 

"Just  twelve  months  come  Saturday." 

"Thanks,  Skipper,"  was  all  I  could  say,  but 
I  found  myself  standing  with  my  hat  off  in  the 
presence  of  this  man.  I  thought  then,  and  still 
think,  I  had  received  one  of  my  largest  fees. 


TWO  CAT'S-PAWS 

JEAN  MARQUETTE  had  nothing  French  about 
him  but  his  name.  Indeed  "ne'er  a  word  of 
French"  could  the  old  man  remember,  for  he 
had  lived  for  many  years  on  the  bleak,  north- 
east side  of  Labrador;  and  few  folk  knew  why, 
for  all  his  forbears  from  sunny  France  had 
studiously  avoided  the  Atlantic  seaboard. 

Over  his  evening  pipe,  when  the  sparkling 
forks  of  fire  bursting  from  the  crackling  logs 
seemed  to  materialize  before  his  eyes  again  the 
scenes  of  his  venturous  life  in  the  wild,  as  if 
they  had  been  imperishably  imprinted  in  the 
old  trunks  which  had  witnessed  them,  the  old 
coureur  de  bois  spirit,  and  even  accent,  flashed 
out  as  he  carried  his  listeners  back  into  the  gal- 
lant days  of  the  men  who  founded  the  great 
seigneuries  which  still  stretch  along  the  thou- 
sand miles  of  coast  from  the  barren  Atlantic 
seaboard  to  the  bold  heights  of  Quebec. 

In  this  country,  only  separated  from  the 
land  of  Evangeline  by  a  few  miles  of  salt  water, 

73 

i 


Labrador  Days 

one  might  reasonably  suppose  that  the  good 
folk  would  look  to  the  soil  and  the  peaceful 
pursuits  of  Arcady  for  at  least  some  part  of 
their  daily  bread.  But,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  watery  potatoes,  Uncle  Johnnie  had  never 
"growed  e'er  a  thing  in  his  life."  His  rule  and 
axe,  his  traps  and  his  lines,  had  exacted  suffi- 
cient tribute  from  wild  nature  around  him,  not 
only  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  but  to  lay 
up  in  the  stocking  in  his  ancient  French  trunk 
dollars  enough  to  give  his  only  child,  Marie- 
Joseph,  quite  a  little  dowry  for  that  coast. 

It  had  often  been  a  puzzle  to  us  why  this 
lonely  old  man,  with  no  one  belonging  to  him 
but  one  unusually  pretty  daughter,  should 
have  migrated  to  the  lonely  North.  He  had 
been  asked  more  than  once  what  the  reason 
was,  but  he  had  always  put  the  curious  off  by 
saying,  "Hunting  must  be  a  lonesome  trade. 
You  wants  a  lot  of  room  to  catch  foxes." 

But  one  night,  when  he  was  in  a  more  com- 
municative mood  than  usual,  we  got  the  whole 
story  out  of  him. 

Late  one  fall,  when  the  southern  fishing  craft 
74 


Two  Cat's-Paws 

had  gone  south,  and  the  ground  was  crisp  with 
the  first  frost  of  winter,  the  lovely  calm  and 
sunny  October  morning  had  induced  him  to 
suggest  to  his  wife  that  she  should  go  over  to 
the  neighbouring  island  with  their  two  elder 
children,  a  girl  and  a  boy,  and  have  a  picnic, 
while  they  gathered  some  of  the  beautiful  red 
cranberries  to  "stow  away"  for  the  winter. 
The  baby  girl,  Marie,  was  left  at  home  with  the 
little  servant  maid.  The  children  had  jumped 
for  joy  at  the  idea,  and  early  after  breakfast  he 
had  rowed  them  across  to  the  island,  returning 
himself  to  finish  loading  his  small  schooner 
with  the  household  goods  and  chattels  which 
they  must  take  up  the  bay  to  their  winter 
home  in  the  woods.  So  busy  had  he  been  with 
work  that  only  as  it  came  time  to  go  off  for  the 
family  did  he  notice  how  suddenly  the  weather 
had  chopped  around.  A  sinister  northerly  flaw 
was  already  rippling  the  surface  of  the  hitherto 
placid  sea;  and  Uncle  Johnnie,  accustomed  to 
read  the  sky  like  a  book,  hurried  as  he  seldom 
did  to  get  the  small  boat  under  way.  No  one 
could  have  driven  her  faster  than  he  drove  her, 

75 


Labrador  Days 

and  the  pace  satisfied  even  his  uneasy  mind. 
The  "cat's-paw"  had  stiffened  to  a  bitter  blast 
behind  him,  and  long  before  the  boat  reached 
the  beach,  it  was  difficult  enough  to  look  to 
windward.  Hauling  up  the  boat,  he  gave  the 
familiar  call  which  his  wife  knew  so  well;  but 
no  answer  came  to  greet  him.  Following  along 
the  shore,  and  still  finding  no  traces,  he  sud- 
denly remembered  that  there  was  an  old  de- 
serted house  nearly  a  mile  farther  along,  and 
incontinently  he  started  to  run  as  fast  as  he 
could  in  its  direction.  As  he  drew  near,  to  his 
infinite  joy  he  caught  sight  of  smoke  issuing 
from  holes  in  the  leaky  roof.  Calling  as  he 
went,  he  soon  reached  the  cabin,  to  find  the 
little  party  trying  to  dry  themselves  before  a 
wood  fire  in  the  crazy  stove,  which  had  no  f un- 
nelling,  and  was  filling  the  hut  with  eye-tortur- 
ing smoke. 

"Come  along,  Mother,"  he  cried.  "There's 
no  time  to  be  lost.  If  we  hurry,  we  may  get 
over  before  dark." 

A  little  delay  was  caused  by  the  children, 
who  were  unwilling  to  leave  even  that  pretence 

7G 


Two  CatVPaws 

of  a  shelter;  and  more  time  was  lost  crossing 
the  island,  the  children  having  to  be  carried 
most  of  the  way.  At  last,  having  placed  them 
all  safely  in  the  boat,  Uncle  Johnnie  pro- 
ceeded to  launch  her,  and  by  wading  into  the 
water  himself,  succeeded  in  keeping  them  dry 
for  the  start.  But  the  increasing  sea  soon  made 
even  that  sacrifice  of  little  avail,  for  broken 
water  and  driving  spray,  with  the  now  heavily 
falling  snow,  soon  soaked  them  through  and 
through,  at  last  half  filling  the  boat  itself  with 
water. 

Uncle  Johnnie  knew  by  instinct  that  it  was 
now  neck  or  nothing.  He  must  get  across  that 
strip  of  water  if  human  endurance  could  do  it. 
So  he  kept  on  and  on,  long  after  he  might  have 
gone  back,  and  put  the  boat  before  it  once  more 
to  run  for  the  island  only  after  it  was  well 
dark,  and  he  was  being  blown  astern  anyhow 
in  spite  of  his  best  efforts.  Nearing  the  shore, 
he  had  every  reason  to  expect  disaster,  for  the 
boat  was  now  half  filled,  and  he  could  see  no 
place  to  make  a  landing.  So  as  soon  as  his 
oars  struck  bottom  he  once  more  jumped  into 

77 


Labrador  Days 

the  water,  and,  holding  the  boat  in  his  iron  grip, 
he  dragged  it  and  its  precious  freight  once  more 
out  of  the  furious  violence  of  the  sea. 

The  children  by  this  time  were  quite  unable 
to  "travel";  so,  sending  his  wife  ahead,  Uncle 
Johnnie  struggled  along  with  the  little  ones  as 
best  he  could. 

Alas,  all  of  them  were  thoroughly  beaten 
out.  As  he  passed  a  big  boulder  halfway  across 
the  island  which  served  as  a  landmark  for  the 
pathway,  Uncle  Johnnie  found  his  poor  wife 
lying  in  the  snow,  and  already  beyond  any  help 
he  could  give.  Hurrying  on  to  the  cottage  as 
best  he  could,  he  deposited  the  children,  and 
once  more  fled  out  into  the  darkness  for  his 
wife,  only  to  be,  as  he  feared,  too  late,  and  to 
be  obliged  to  leave  her  where  she  had  fallen. 
Distracted  as  he  was,  he  could  only  once  more 
hurry  to  the  hut,  where  again  nothing  but  dis- 
aster awaited  him.  The  place  was  flooded,  the 
fire  was  out,  no  dry  matches  were  left,  and  the 
little  boy  was  already  following  his  mother 
into  the  great  beyond.  Tearing  off  his  coat  and 

shirt,  and  pressing  the  little  girl  to  his  naked 

78 


Two  Cat's- Paws 

skin,  he  covered  himself  up  again  as  best  he 
could,  and  was  actually  able  by  moving  about 
the  whole  night  long,  not  only  to  keep  himself 
alive,  but  to  preserve  the  vital  spark  in  his 
little  daughter.  Help  came  hi  the  morning  from 
the  nearest  neighbour  some  miles  away,  who 
had  been  given  the  alarm  by  the  servant  maid 
from  his  home.  But  there  was  still  one  more 
loss  for  him  to  meet,  his  little  daughter  failing 
to  react  to  all  their  tenderest  efforts  to  bring 
her  back  to  life. 

Before  Marie  was  out  of  her  teens,  hah5  the 
young  bloods  of  the  neighbourhood  were  court- 
ing around  Uncle  Johnnie's  house.  But  none  of 
them  ever  made  any  headway,  for  Uncle  John- 
nie clung  to  his  one  ewe  lamb  with  almost 
childish  dependence,  and  guarded  her  with  all 
the  wiles  of  his  lifelong  woodcraft. 

"  T  is  natural  enough,"  thought  young  Ned 
Waring,  "  that  t'  old  man  don't  want  to  part 
with  she.  For  there  be  nothing  else  for  he  round 
here  now.  Every  stone  on  t'  beach  reminds  he 
of  his  terrible  misfortune."  He  had  said  this 

often  enough  before,  but  one  day  it  struck  him — 

79 


Labrador  Days 

"When  you  wants  to  outwit  a  beaver,  youse 
got  to  bank  on  dem  t'ings  that  are  real  part  of 
his  make-up,  and  which  he  can  no  more  help 
than  a  bear  can  help  licking  molasses.  Fishing 
is  n't  as  good  as  it  used  to  be  round  here,  and 
swiles 1  —  well,  there  be'ant  one  year  in  a  dozen 
when  they  comes  in  any  quantity.  I  reckon  I  '11 
rig  t'  Saucy  Lass  for  a  longer  trip  t'  year,  and 
see  what  luck '11  bring  lower  down  t'  Lab- 
rador." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  year  that  on  a  day  in 
June,  with  his  two  brothers  and  a  shipped 
"hand,"  Ned  landed  north  of  fifty-three  in  a 
lovely  cove  in  some  islands  off  the  mouth  of  a 
long  bay.  Even  as  he  passed  in  he  had  seen  fish 
schooling  so  thick  "you  could  catch  'em  by  the 
tails."  His  vessel  safely  anchored,  he  went 
ashore,  much  as  did  the  old  navigators  in  the 
brave  days  of  the  French  explorers.  No  sign  of 
human  beings  existed  anywhere.  Thick  groves 
of  evergreen  trees  covered  all  the  slopes  of  the 
valleys  which  held  the  river  in  whose  mouth 
they  had  anchored.  But  though  signs  of  rab- 

1  Seals. 
80 


Two  Cat's-Paws 

bits,  foxes,  and  other  game  greeted  their  trained 
eyes,  not  a  living  animal  was  to  be  seen  mov- 
ing anywhere. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  as  they 
stretched  themselves  out  on  the  brow  of  the 
hill  before  returning  to  their  schooner,  Ned 
chanced  to  disturb  a  large  bee,  which  resented 
painfully  the  intrusion  of  these  idlers  on  his 
labours.  It  was  an  insect  rare  enough  on  Lab- 
rador; so,  taking  the  overture  as  a  touch  of 
personal  interest  rather  than  hostility,  they 
christened  their  cove  "Bumble-Bee  Bight,"  and 
the  home  which  they  partly  built  before  the 
winter  drove  them  south  again,  "the  Hive"; 
while  for  purposes  of  his  own  Ned  left  the 
island  unnamed. 

The  trip  proved  a  bumper  one.  They  carried 
a  full  fare  home;  and  big  were  the  rumours 
which  got  around  of  the  fisherman's  paradise 
which  Ned  Waring  had  discovered.  When  the 
voyage  was  turned  in,  Ned  was  able  to  pur-' 
chase  every  essential  and  many  comforts  for 
the  new  home  in  the  North,  and  yet  have  a 
balance  coming  to  him  large  enough  to  furnish 

81 


Labrador  Days 

him  with  the  bravest  winter  outfit  a  young 
suitor  could  wish. 

Uncle  Johnnie  was,  however,  all  the  time 
"one  too  many"  for  him  as  well  as  all  the  rest; 
and  never  was  he  able  to  catch  Marie  alone. 
Things  went  on  uneventfully  through  Christ- 
mas and  the  New  Year.  The  old  man  no  longer 
drove  dogs.  He  spent  almost  all  his  time  pot- 
tering around  his  own  house,  now  and  again 
cleaving  a  few  billets  of  wood ;  but  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  he  was  hibernating  like  one  of 
our  Labrador  bears. 

When  March  month  once  more  came  around, 
the  magic  word  "swiles"  was  whispered  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  and  Uncle  Johnnie  woke  up 
like  a  weasel  when  a  rabbit  is  about.  Every  day 
he  sallied  up  to  his  lookout  on  the  hill,  tele- 
scope in  hand,  at  stated  hours.  But  the  hours 
were  so  timed  that  Marie  could  always  go  with 
him. 

"Swiles"  are  second  nature  to  most  Labra- 
dor men.  As  for  Uncle  Johnnie,  he  would  leave 
his  Christmas  dinner  any  time  if  any  one  came 
and  called,  "Swiles!"  He  would  rather  haul 

82 


Two  Cat's  Paws 

a  two-dollar  pelt  over  "t'  ballicaters"  than 
make  two  hundred  hi  any  other  way. 

"So  I  reckoned,"  said  Ned  cannily,  "one 
chance  to  make  t'  old  man  friendly  was  to  put 
him  in  t'  way  o'  doing  again  what  he  was  really 
scarcely  able  to  do  any  longer;  and  that  was, 
to  have  as  many  notches  on  his  gaff-stick  for 
dead  seals  as  any  other  man. 

"It  were,  however,  longer  than  I  cares  to 
remember  now,  before  much  of  a  chance  come 
my  way,  but  it  come  at  last.  T'  spring  had  been 
that  hard  and  that  quiet  that  I  'lows  us  could 
have  walked  over  to  t'  Gaspe  shore  if  us  had 
been  so  minded.  T'  standing  ice  never  broke  up 
from  Christmas  to  April  month;  and  there 'd 
been  ne'er  a  bit  of  whelping  ice  near  enough  to 
see  with  a  spyglass,  or  a  swatch  big  enough  for 
an  old  harp  to  put  his  whiskers  through.  So 
when  us  woke  one  morning  and  found  that  t' 
sea  had  heaved  in  overnight  unbeknownst  to 
us,  and  that  there  was  lakes  of  blue  water 
everywhere,  every  man  was  out  with  his  rope 
and  gaff,  as  natural  as  a  young  duck  takes  to 

water. 

83 


Labrador  Days 

"That  evening  t'  ice  packed  in  again,  and  by 
nightfall  it  all  seemed  fast  as  ever.  There  was 
always  a  big  tide  made  round  Cape  Blowme- 
down,  and  as  t'  land  fell  sharp  away  on  each 
side  of  it,  it  were  never  too  safe  to  go  off  very 
far  on  t'  ice.  But,  that  being  a  bad  year,  every 
man  was  on  his  mettle,  and  us  all  took  more 
chances  than  was  real  right. 

"From  t'  bluff  of  t'  head  Uncle  Johnnie  had 
spied  old  and  young  seals  on  t'  ice  before  most 
of  t'  boys  was  out  o'  bed ;  and  us  had  a  dozen  or 
so  on  t'  rocks  before  t9  others  was  out  t'  ice  at 
all.  As  those  near  t'  land  got  cleaned  up,  us 
went  a  bit  farther  out  each  tune;  and  more'n 
one  seal  I  did  n't  exactly  see  so 's  to  give  Uncle 
Johnnie  a  better  chance,  and  to  let  me  keep  all 
t'  time  outside  o'  he. 

"Just  before  it  came  dark  and  we  was  two  or 
three  miles  out,  t'  wind  shifted  all  of  a  sudden 
and  came  off  t'  land.  Uncle  Johnnie  had  a  tow 
of  three  big  pelts,  and,  believe  me,  heaven  and 
earth  would  n't  have  made  he  leave  them 
swiles  behind.  I  'd  left  mine  just  as  quick  as  I 
felt  t'  shift,  and  never  let  on  I  had  any,  so 's  I 

84 


Two  Cat's-Paws 

could  rope  up  Uncle  Johnnie's  load  and  hustle 
him  toward  t'  land.  But  t'  ice  was  that  hum- 
micky  it  was  an  hour  before  us  got  near,  and 
there  we  were,  almost  dark,  t'  ice  broken  off, 
driving  along  about  twenty  yards  from  t' 
standing  ice  almost  as  fast  as  a  man  could 
walk,  and  t'  wind  freshening  every  minute. 
There  was  about  a  mile  to  t'  bill  of  t'  Cape,  and 
after  that  there  'd  be  no  hope  whatever. 

"Four  years  before  Jim  Willis  and  his 
brother  Joe  had  been  caught  just  t'  same  way. 
Joe  had  perished  in  his  brother's  arms  next  day 
after  he  'd  carried  him  for  some  hours,  and  Jim 
had  drifted  ashore  on  t'  second  day  with  only 
a  spark  of  Me  left  in  him. 

"Every  other  man  had  been  ashore  and 
gone  home  for  long  ago,  not  knowing  we  was 
working  outside,  and  only  one  chance  were  left 
for  we.  For  t'  gap  of  water  was  getting  wider 
every  minute,  and  there  was  n't  a  loose  pan  to 
ferry  over  on  big  enough  to  float  a  dog.  So  I 
shouted  to  Uncle  Johnnie  to  run  along  t'  ice 
edge  back  up  the  bay  just  as  hard  as  he  could 
go,  and  I  'd  jump  into  t'  water  and  swim  for  t' 

85 


Labrador  Days 

standing  ice  edge.  I  never  expected  to  get  out 
again,  but  t'  good  Lord  arranged  it,  I  suppose, 
that  I  should  strike  a  low  shelf  running  off 
level  with  t'  water,  and  by  kicking  like  a 
swile,  I  was  able  to  climb  up  and  on  to  the 
ballicaters. 

"There  was  always  a  boat  hauled  up  on  t* 
cape  for  men  gunning  to  get  birds  or  swiles, 
and  t*  only  chance  was  to  get  there  and  launch 
her  before  t'  ice  passed  out.  T'  rise  and  fall  of  t* 
tide  had  piled  up  t'  ballicaters  at  t'  foot  of  t* 
cliffs  like  young  mountains,  and  it  was  already 
dark,  too,  while  my  wet  clothes  froze  on  me 
like  a  box.  I  reckon  that  saved  my  legs  from 
being  broken  more  'n  once,  for  I  fell  into  holes 
and  slid  down  precipices,  and,  anyhow,  next 
day  I  was  black  and  blue  from  head  to  toe  — 
though  for  that  matter  I'd  have  been  green 
and  pink  glad  enough  to  have  t'  chance  it  gave 
me. 

"Anyhow,  I  got  t'  boat  in  t'  water  at  last, 
and  pulled  out  toward  t'  floe,  but  ne'er  a  sign 
could  I  make  out  of  Uncle  Johnnie.  There 
were  n't  a  moment  for  waste,  for  spray  was 

86 


Two  Cat's-Paws 

drifting  over  t'  punt,  and  she  was  icing  up  that 
fast  that  if  we  lost  much  tune  I  knew  that  it 
was  good-bye  to  home  for  both  of  us.  So  I  had 
to  risk  hauling  her  up  on  t'  ice,  while  I  ran 
along  t*  edge,  shouting  for  all  I  knew.  I  had  n't 
gone  many  yards  before  I  stumbled  right  over 
t'  old  man.  In  t'  dark  he  had  slipped  into  a  lake 
of  water  that  had  gathered  on  t'  ice,  and  was 
about  half -dead  already.  For  I  had  been  mov- 
ing and  had  n't  noticed  t'  tune,  and  Uncle 
Johnnie  had  given  out  quickly,  thinking  I  were 
lost,  anyhow.  Well,  in  t'  dark  it  was  not  an 
easy  job  to  half -carry  t'  old  man  back  to  where 
I  'd  left  t'  boat.  But  when  you  must 't  is  won- 
derful what  you  can  do;  and  even  dragging 
him  were  n't  as  hard  as  rowing  ashore  against 
t'  wind. 

"T'  men  thought  us  would  never  reach  land, 
for  t'  ice  made  so  fast  on  t'  punt  and  oars,  and 
us  were  carried  well  outside  t'  bill  while  I  was 
getting  Uncle  Johnnie.  When  we  did  at  last 
make  t'  standing  ice  edge,  it  would  have  been 
t'  end  again  if  Marie  had  n't  been  clever 
enough  to  go  and  rouse  out  t'  boys,  and  come 

87 


Labrador  Days 

with  them  right  to  t'  very  edge  of  t'  ice  looking 
for  us.  And  she  had  n't  forgotten  some  hot 
stuff  nor  a  blanket  neither.  She  told  us  after- 
wards that  she  saw  Uncle  Johnnie  perishing  of 
cold  away  out  off  t'  cape  before  she  left  t'  cot- 
tage, just  as  clear  as  she  did  when  t'  boys 
hauled  us  out  of  t'  punt. 

"Uncle  Johnnie  pulled  round  in  a  day  or  so, 
but  I  pulled  round  early  next  morning,  and 
those  two  days  gave  me  t'  first  chance  I  'd  had 
to  get  to  windward  of  t'  old  man,  and  have 
Marie  for  an  hour  or  two  by  herself. 

"T'  business  soon  blew  over,  as  I  knew  it 
would,  and  what's  more,  Uncle  Johnnie  were 
no  more  for  letting  any  one  get  Marie  away 
from  him  than  he'd  been  afore.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  it  made  him  cling  closer  to 
she  than  ever;  and  I  got  real  down-hearted 
when  it  come  time  to  fit  out  t'  Saucy  Lass  for 
North  Labrador  once  more. 

"Lucky  for  me,  I  'd  made  t'  most  of  my  time 
when  Uncle  Johnnie  were  ill,  and  talked  many 
times  to  Marie  about  how  her  father  might  get 
young  again  if  he  could  go  where  he  could  for- 

88 


Two  Cat's-Paws 

get  the  old  scenes.  So  when  we  had  had  t' 
schooner  painted  up  and  launched,  and  t'  sails 
bent  and  began  getting  firewood  and  things 
aboard,  I  got  her  to  talk  to  he  about  coming 
along  with  we. 

"I've  often  noticed  how  t'  very  things  you 
thought  t'  last  on  earth  to  happen  come  about 
just  as  easy  as  f  ailing  off  a  log.  When  I  went 
over  next  morning  to  pretend  to  say  good-bye, 
Marie  whispered  in  my  ear,  'He  really  wants 
to  go.  He  only  wants  asking '  —  and  before 
night  we  had  it  all  arranged.  We  was  to  fix  up 
t'  hold  for  him  and  Marie,  and  they'd  come 
along  and  make  a  new  home  alongside  us  at 
Bumble-Bee  Bight. 

"I  won't  trouble  you  with  t'  story  of  t'  voy- 
age down,  only  to  say  that  we  found  that  two 
could  play  better  than  one  at  hide-and-seek. 
When  at  last  we  anchored  off  t'  river  mouth, 
Uncle  Johnnie  was  fair  delighted.  Nothing 
would  satisfy  him  but  he  must  choose  a  spot  for 
his  new  house  right  away.  But  meanwhile  t' 
cargo  had  to  be  stored  in  t'  'Hive*  out  o'  t' 
weather.  Uncle  Johnnie  was  always  extra  care- 

89 


Labrador  Days 

ful  about  his  things  and  would  n't  allow  no 
one  but  he  to  handle  'em.  So  Marie  went  up  to 
get  a  fire  and  tidy  up,  while  t'  old  man  handed 
t'  things  up  to  we.  For  my  part  I  found  that  I 
had  to  stay  up  at  t'  'Hive'  and  help  arrange  t' 
goods  as  they  came  along;  and,  'lowing  it  might 
be  t'  last  chance,  for  we'd  be  into  t'  fishery 
straight  away,  I  up  and  asked  Marie  if  it 
would  n't  be  as  well  not  to  build  another  house 
after  all.  All  I  wanted  was  her  to  share  t'  house 
we'd  built  already;  and  Uncle  Johnnie  would 
be  less  lonesome  than  he  'd  ever  been  since  his 
accident,  because  instead  of  losing  one,  he'd  be 
getting  two.  I'm  not  telling  you  all  what  was 
said;  as  I'd  told  t'  boys  not  to  hurry  with  t' 
unloading,  and  Uncle  Johnnie  did  n't  get 
ashore  till  real  late.  By  that  time  it  was  all 
fixed  up,  but  nothing  was  to  be  said  till  the 
house  was  ready  next  night. 

"When  us  come  in  together  hand  in  hand 
that  evening,  Uncle  Johnnie  had  started  his 
pipe  after  tea.  He  guessed  right  away  some- 
thing was  up,  but  maybe  he  had  guessed  some- 
thing before.  All  he  said  was,  'Well,  Ned,  all 

90 


Two  Cat's-Paws 

my  bridges  is  burnt  behind  me,  as  you  know, 
anyhow,  and  if  it  had  n't  been  for  you,  there  'd 
be  no  need  of  asking  any  one  for  Marie,  for  I  'd 
have  been  gone.  So  I  can't  well  say  no;  and  she 
might  go  farther  and  fare  worse  for  sure.  So  I  '11 
just  leave  it  to  Marie  herself,  and  if  she  says  so, 
so  it  shall  be.' 

"And  that's  all  there  is  to  tell  about  it. 
Sure  people  often  wonders  how  others  came  to 
live  'way  down  on  these  lonesome  shores.  But 
Marquette  Islands  have  given  me  fish  and  fur 
and  good  life,  with  ne'er  a  cent  owing  to  any 
man,  and  there's  four  fine  youngsters  to  help 
out  when  we  can  no  longer  fend  for  ourselves." 


THE  TRIPLE  ALLIANCE 

"THEY  brought  in  a  blind  man  last  night," 
said  the  house  surgeon.  "It  only  seemed  a  case 
of  starvation,  so  I  did  n't  call  you." 

"Where  is  he  from?" 

"About  thirty  miles  in  the  country  down 
north  somewhere.  Apparently  he  has  been  liv- 
ing at  the  bottom  of  a  bay  'way  out  of  the  line 
of  the  komatik  trail.  Formerly  he  could  get 
firewood  easily,  and  a  few  bay  seals  and  game 
to  live  on.  He  seems  too  proud  to  let  people 
know  how  badly  off  he  was." 

"What's  the  history?" 

"He  has  a  wife  and  two  girls,  who  appear  to 
be  in  almost  as  poor  shape  as  he  is  himself.  He 
has  been  gradually  growing  blind  for  some  time, 
and  was  up  here  two  years  ago  to  see  the  eye 
specialist.  His  name  is  Emile  Moreau." 

"A  Frenchman!  Why,  I  remember  the  man 
perfectly.  A  slow-growing  cerebral  tumor." 

He  had  been  under  observation  for  some 
weeks,  and  we  had  had  to  decide  that  he  would 


The  Triple  Alliance 

not  be  benefited  by  an  operation.  So  he  went 
away,  promising  to  return  soon.  But  this  is  the 
way  he  had  kept  his  promise. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  stood  by  the  bedside  of 
the  blind  Frenchman.  The  poor  fellow  was  a 
skeleton,  with  the  characteristic  sunken  face 
and  fallen  skin  with  which  we  are  familiar  in 
those  living  on  what  we  know  as  "dry  diet." 
He  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself  except, 
"Times  has  been  none  too  good,  Doctor.  It  is  a 
bad  country  when  a  fellow  can't  see  where  he 
is  going.  'T  is  many  an  odd  tumble  I've  had, 
too,  knocking  around."  Emile  had  been  away 
from  France  for  many  a  long  day,  and  the  only 
English  he  had  ever  heard  was  the  vernacular 
of  our  Northern  Coast. 

"How's  your  wife  and  the  kiddies  you  told 
us  about  when  you  were  here  last  time?  It 
strikes  me  that  they  may  have  had  a  tumble 
too." 

"Well,  I  'lows,  Doctor,  them  has  been 
clemmed  up  on  tunes.  But,  Jeanie,  she  never 
says  nothing;  she's  that  busy  with  t'  things  I 
can't  do.  She  'lowed  she'd  stay  and  mind  t' 

93 


Labrador  Days 

children  till  I  get  better  a  bit.  No,  that's  right. 
She  has  n't  much  grub.  But  us  uses  very  little, 
and  she  never  complains." 

Two  days  later  our  good  dogs  brought  in  the 
rest  of  the  family  —  the  babes  to  the  warm  wel- 
come and  plenty  at  the  Children's  Home,  while 
one  of  the  pluckiest  little  women  I  have  ever 
known,  even  in  a  country  of  brave  and  self- 
reliant  women,  was  carried  into  the  hospital 
partially  paralyzed  with  beri-beri.  She  was  so 
close  to  the  gate  from  which  there  is  no  return- 
ing that  it  took  our  nurses  six  months  to  wean 
her  back  to  another  spell  of  usefulness. 

It  was  no  ordinary  conundrum  which  vexed 
my  mind  when  the  house  surgeon  at  last  an- 
nounced, "These  Moreau  patients  are  well 
enough  to  leave  hospital,"  though  I  had  real- 
ized that  for  good  or  evil  the  day  was  near. 

Neither  had  said  a  word  about  the  future. 
The  worst  feature  of  sending  them  out  was  the 
personal  affection  which  their  lessons  in  con- 
tentment had  kindled  in  us.  How  could  this 
helpless  family  ever  hope  to  keep  the  wolf  from 

the  door.  A  council  of  war  was  called  the  same 

94 


The  Triple  Alliance 

evening,  and  some  neighbours  who  well  knew 
the  dilemma  in  which  we  found  ourselves 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  attend.  There  was  an 
old  shack  in  the  compound  in  which  some 
workmen  had  once  been  housed,  and  which 
had  subsequently  been  used  as  a  small  store- 
house. It  was  proposed,  in  the  absence  of 
funds,  for  all  hands  to  assault  this  stronghold, 
and  convert  it  as  far  as  possible  into  a  habit- 
able home. 

Thus  came  into  existence  what  developed 
later  into  the  general  headquarters  of  the 
"triple  entente/' 

To  relieve  the  situation,  one  child  was 
adopted  by  a  childless,  well-to-do  neighbour, 
and  the  other  was  left  for  education  and  care 
with  our  little  wards  in  the  Home.  Emile 
learned  basket-work;  Jeanie  took  in  washing. 
The  Moreau  exchequer  once  more  was  in 
funds.  But  two  difficulties  soon  presented 
themselves.  There  was  a  glut  in  our  basket 
market,  and  Emile  found  life  without  being 
able  to  move  out  of  the  house  almost  more 
than  a  man  born  to  the  sea  and  the  trail  could 

95 


Labrador  Days 

bear.  Small  dogs  in  civilization  are  wont  to  fill 
this  gap.  But  alas,  "down  North"  small  dogs 
are  taboo  —  their  imperious  Eskimo  congeners 
having  decided  against  them. 

There  happened  to  be  at  this  time  also  under 
our  care  an  Eskimo  lad  from  the  Far  North, 
whom  we  had  picked  up  suffering  with  a  form 
of  lung  trouble  which  only  the  radical  opera- 
tion of  collapsing  one  side  of  his  chest  wall 
could  relieve.  The  ribs  had  been  removed.  The 
boy  had  recovered  slowly;  but,  having  only  a 
very  limited  breathing  capacity,  he  had  been 
allowed  to  remain  for  the  chores  he  could  do. 
Without  kith,  kin,  or  even  fellow  countrymen, 
he  was  a  veritable  pelican  in  the  wilderness 
without  any  home  attachments  —  and  a  very 
serious  problem  to  ourselves. 

Emile  could  cut  wood,  being  strong  as  a 
horse  and  an  excellent  axeman;  but  he  could 
not  find  it  alone.  He  could  carry  heavy  pack- 
ages, but  he  could  not  find  his  way.  He  could 
haul  water,  but  could  not  economically  direct 
his  energies.  Karlek's  eyes  were  the  best  part 
of  him.  So  it  came  about  that  one  morning  on 

96 


The  Triple  Alliance 

the  way  to  the  hospital  I  met  Emile  whistling 
like  a  newly  arrived  robin  in  spring,  his  hand 
on  Karlek's  shoulder,  and  on  his  back  a  heavy 
sack  of  potatoes  which  he  was  bringing  up  to 
the  hospital  kitchen  from  the  frost-proof  cellar 
in  the  cove. 

It  brought  a  smile  to  one's  lips  to  see  the 
nonchalance  and  almost  braggadocio  of  his 
gait  as  he  stepped  out  boldly,  covering  the 
ground  at  a  speed  which  was  itself  a  luxury  to 
one  so  long  cut  off  from  that  joie  de  vivre  of  a 
strong  man.  And  more,  it  brought  a  smile  to 
one's  soul  to  see  the  joy  of  victory  flashing  in 
the  features  of  the  upturned  face  —  the  tri- 
umph of  the  man  over  the  pitifulness  of  his 
sightless  eyes.  The  international  dual  alliance 
was  making  its  debut  on  the  field.  The  firm  of 
Karlek  and  Moreau,  Eskimo  and  Frenchman, 
had  come  to  stay. 

So  time  went  on,  cheerfully  and  even  rapidly 
for  all  concerned  —  the  Mission  developing 
its  labour-saving  devices  as  the  work  increased, 
and  the  help  of  its  friends  made  it  possible.  A 
water-supply  system  soon  partially  obviated 

97 


Labrador  Days 

the  need  for  hauling  barrels  in  the  summer 
from  our  spring  and  puncheons  on  the  dog 
sledges  in  the  winter.  A  roadway  and  narrow- 
gauge  railway  track  relieved  us  of  the  necessity 
of  so  much  portage  on  men's  backs;  and  a  cir- 
cular saw,  run  by  a  small  gasoline  engine,  cut 
up  our  firewood  with  less  waste  and  with  more 
satisfactory  results. 

As  with  the  basket  market,  so  with  the 
chore  market,  the  ground  was  once  more  fall- 
ing away  from  beneath  our  poor  friends'  feet. 
Only  the  indefatigable  Jeanie  held  the  house- 
hold together,  for  in  the  heyday  of  the  dual  alli- 
ance's prosperity,  the  little  daughter  had  been 
permitted  to  return  to  her  parents  from  the 
Children's  Home. 

With  the  lapse  of  years,  however,  even  if 
Emile  could  see  no  better  with  his  eyes,  his 
other  faculties  had  developed  so  largely  as  to 
surrender  to  him  again  the  joy  of  independ- 
ence of  outside  help,  and  with  characteristic 
self-reliance  and  optimism  he  once  more  tack- 
led his  own  difficulties. 

I  was  recently  visiting  a  small  cottage,  built 
08 


The  Triple  Alliance 

on  a  tiny  ledge  under  the  shadow  of  gloomy, 
high  cliffs.  It  was  far  from  any  pathway  and 
only  approachable  by  stumbling  over  huge 
rocks  —  the  debris  of  the  crags  behind.  The 
hut  had  been  built  by  a  lonely  old  fellow  who 
resorted  to  it  in  summer  because  it  was  right 
on  the  fishing-grounds,  and  he  was  getting  un- 
able any  longer  to  face  the  long  row  to  and 
from  his  house  in  the  harbour.  Nowhere  in  the 
world  is  the  old  adage  concerning  the  birds  of 
a  feather  truer  than  on  this  coast.  The  poorer 
and  lonelier  a  man  is,  the  greater  is  the  cer- 
tainty that  some  other  poor  and  lonely  person 
will  seek  the  shelter  of  their  poverty.  Thus  it 
had  been  with  old  man  Martin. 

One  day  there  had  appeared  at  the  cottage 
door  from  twenty  miles  farther  down  the 
coast  one-legged  Ike,  an  irregular,  angular 
youth,  who,  stumbling  over  the  hillside,  and 
magnified  into  portentous  proportions  by  one 
of  our  Promethean  fogs,  had  nearly  scared  the 
wits  out  of  even  my  trusty  dog  team.  Quite 
without  invitation  from  old  man  Martin,  one- 
legged  Ike  had  come  to  stay.  The  proximity  to 

99 


Labrador  Days 

the  fishing-grounds  suited  this  seafarer,  who 
shared  in  every  particular  the  limpet-like 
characteristics  of  Sinbad's  Old  Man  of  the 
Sea. 

Anyhow,  old  Martin  had  never  shaken  him 
off,  and  had  been  heard  to  excuse  himself  by 
saying,  "After  all,  he  can  sit  in  a  boat  as  well 
as  any  of  them  with  two  legs."  "Where  there's 
room  for  one,  there's  room  for  two/'  is  almost 
an  axiom  of  life  on  these  shores.  In  the  lapse  of 
time  the  old  man  had  taken  his  last  voyage, 
and  Ike  had  come  into  full  possession  of  the 
estate,  living  almost  like  Robinson  Crusoe, 
cut  off  from  his  fellows  by  to  him  impassable 
barriers. 

It  was  a  reported  lapse  in  some  other  por- 
tion of  Ike's  anatomy  that  had  led  me  to 
scramble  along  the  landwash  to  the  cottage. 
The  ice  having  broken  up  and  gone  out  of  the 
harbour,  I  should  have  considered  longer  the 
advisability  of  the  trip,  —  for  the  morning 
frosts  left  the  jagged  rock  masses  at  the  foot 
of  the  cliff  harbingers  of  ill  omen  to  the  travel- 
ler, —  had  it  not  been  that  his  isolation  might 

100 


The  Triple  Alliance 

possibly  make  even  trivial  trouble  serious.  For 
he  had  come  safely  through  so  many  scrapes, 
not  a  few  being  of  his  own  making,  that  I 
had  nicknamed  him  in  my  mind  "indestructi- 
ble Ike." 

At  last,  congratulating  myself  that  I  had 
arrived  without  any  untoward  happenings,  I 
rapped  loudly  on  his  door,  expecting  to  hear 
his  squeaky,  perpetually  broken  voice  bid  me 
enter.  Much  to  my  surprise,  therefore,  the 
door  opened  itself,  and  smiling  in  the  doorway 
stood  our  blind  friend. 

"Good  Heavens!  Emile,  how  on  earth  did 
yon  p't  IUMV?  And  why  did  yon  over  want  lo 
come,  anyhow?" 

"Why,  I  thought  it  was  a  good  plan  for  me 
to  go  fishing,"  he  replied,  addressing  appar- 
ently a  huge  rock,  so  accurately  poised  over 
the  hut  that  it  suggested  any  moment  an  an- 
nihilating assault  upon  it.  "Ike  's  going  to  be 
pilot  and  I'm  to  do  t*  rowing.  We're  to  be 
partners  for  t*  summer,  and  Karlek  's  going  to 
look  after  t*  family  and  help  out  when  he  can. 

It  feels  like  being  young  again  to  be  on  t' 

101 


Labrador  Days 

water  with  a  fishing-line.  And,  mind  you,  Ike 
knows  a  few  tricks  with  a  line  that's  worth 
more'n  another  leg  to  we,  once  we  be  on  t' 
grounds.  They  all  'lows  he  be  as  good  as  t'  next 
man  for  hauling  in  fish,  so  be  as  there's  any 
around." 

Ike's  indisposition,  as  I  had  surmised,  was 
not  of  a  serious  nature,  and  I  learned  subse- 
quently that  it  was  the  proper  ratification  of 
the  terms  of  the  new  triple  alliance  that  had 
more  to  do  with  the  sick  call  than  any  undue 
foreboding  of  impending  dissolution  on  Ike's 
part.  There  had  been  some  hitch  in  coming  to 
terms,  and  Emile  had  put  the  only  one  point 
in  them  to  his  credit,  when  he  saw  through  the 
trick,  and  "plumped  for  a  magistrate,"  feel- 
ing also  that  he  could  trust  me  for  more  than 
mere  legal  technicalities. 

It  was  obviously  an  offensive  campaign  on 
which  I  found  them  bent.  Ike  had  himself 
carefully  repaired  the  boat's  structure,  having 
always  a  keen  eye  to  comfort  and  safety;  while 
from  Emile's  hands  I  could  see  that  the  task 
of  tarring  their  warship,  owing  to  Ike's  tempo- 

102 


The  Triple  Alliance 

rary  indisposition  and  the  need  for  immediate 
preparedness,  had  fallen  to  him.  His  only 
method  for  finding  out  where  he  had  applied 
that  hot  and  adhesive  liquid  had  left  very  ap- 
parent evidences  of  both  his  energy  and  his 
zeal.  To  Emile  also  had  fallen  the  rearrange- 
ment of  the  big  rocks,  so  as  to  form  as  level  a 
surface  as  possible  on  which  to  dry  the  fish. 
It  was  a  Sisyphean  task,  and  poor  Emile  had 
spent  much  sweat  and  not  a  little  blood  in 
his  efforts.  But,  as  Ike  told  him,  "lifting 
rocks  were  n't  no  work  for  a  man  with  one 
leg."  So  he  had  offset  against  it  getting  the 
meals  ready,  and  what  he  called  "tidying 
things  up."  But  as  Karlek  was,  unrewarded, 
to  bring  the  bread,  Ike's  household  labours 
did  not  promise  to  be  onerous. 

In  one  sense  the  entente  campaign  proved 
victorious,  for  they  had  a  goodly  catch ;  but  in 
the  division  of  the  spoils  it  apparently  turned 
out  that  it  had  been  so  arranged  that  Emile's 
share  was  to  catch  the  fish,  Karlek's  to  dry  it, 
and  Ike's  to  exchange  it  piecemeal  for  tobacco 
or  "things  for  t'  house,"  as  he  called  them. 

103 


Labrador  Days 

Ever  since  Stevenson  wrote  of  the  one- 
legged  rascal  Silver,  one  associates  with  that 
handicap  a  tendency  to  try  to  outwit  others; 
while  the  dependence  of  blind  men  presup- 
poses simplicity  and  trustfulness. 

Emile  worked  like  a  tiger,  with  the  single- 
mindedness  of  the  Verdun  spirit  of  France, 
blissfully  supposing  that  Ike  did  the  same  in 
his  end  of  the  boat.  Fishing  in  sixty  fathoms  of 
icy  water,  Emile  would  haul  his  lines  up  and 
down,  re-bait  and  tend  them,  till  his  hands 
were  blue  with  cold,  and  the  skin  "fair  wore  off 
t'  bones."  One  day,  however,  a  harbour  trap 
boat  happened  to  pass  close  by  their  rodney 
while  they  were  anchored  on  the  fishing- 
grounds,  and  the  owner  called  out,  "Wake 
up,  Ike!  Price  of  dream  fish  is  down."  Ike  had 
somewhat  loudly  and  not  too  politely  re- 
sponded to  the  salutation,  but  all  the  same  it 
awoke  a  first  suspicion  hi  Emile's  mind.  While 
not  slacking  himself,  he  "kept  an  eye"  on  his 
partner  as  best  he  could. 

He  knew  that  a  one-legged  man  must  sit 
down  for  work,  while  for  his  part  he  stood,  but 

104 


The  Triple  Alliance 

he  had  not  realized  that  Ike  considered  any 
more  restful  posture  essential.  "A  blind  man 
sees  more'n  most  folk"  is  a  common  claim  of 
Emile's.  It  is  tedious  pegging  away  when  fish 
are  scarce,  yet  fishing  is  a  trade  where  "  't  is 
dogged  as  does  it."  He  suspected  that  Ike  took 
it  easy  in  the  stern  while  he  worked  in  the 
bow;  and  his  doubts  were  confirmed  when  one 
day,  from  a  passing  boat,  some  one  called  out : 
"'T  ain't  safe  for  you  to  be  out  alone,  Emile. 
You'll  be  running  some  one  down  one  of  these 
days."  It  was  obvious  that  Ike  was  not  visible 
over  the  gunwale. 

From  that  day  on,  Emile  began  to  count  his 
catch  and  to  put  a  cross-thwait  in  the  middle 
of  the  boat  to  keep  them  separate  — "Some- 
thing to  push  my  feet  against  when  I  rows,  I 
called  'un,"  he  told  me.  Still  Ike  was  almost 
too  much  for  him,  for  Karlek  remembered  see- 
ing him  sorting  out  the  fish  as  he  landed  them, 
and  the  big  ones,  somehow  or  other,  all  found 
their  way  into  Ike's  yaffles.  Ike  also  discovered 
that  it  was  good  economy  constantly  to  change 
the  location  of  such  things  as  the  tobacco  box, 

105 


Labrador  Days 

butter  tub,  and  molasses  jar,  for  it  often  meant 
that  the  good-natured  Emile  went  without. 

The  cold  weather  set  in  early,  and  though 
the  contract  was  not  up,  Ike's  hereditary  in- 
stinct that  hardship  was  bad  for  his  constitu- 
tion made  him  decide  to  stop  if  he  could.  But 
Emile  went  steadily  on,  having  learned  from 
Karlek  that  there  were  occasional  leakages  from 
the  fish  pile.  He  ventured  to  remonstrate  with 
his  partner,  but  as  fish  were  plentiful,  he  refused 
to  cancel  the  contract  before  the  proper  date. 

It  was  Ike  who  finally  forced  the  issue. 
Emile  being  bowman,  it  was  their  custom  al- 
ways to  come  in  to  the  ladder  leading  to  the 
stage  platform  head  on,  when  Emile,  grabbing 
the  cross-bars  with  one  hand  and  holding  the 
painter  in  the  other,  climbed  up  and  "made 
her  fast."  Projecting  from  the  stage  head  is  a 
long  pole  used  for  preventing  boats  that  are 
made  fast  from  bumping  against  the  stage. 
Coming  in  a  day  or  so  later,  Ike  drove  the  punt 
in  parallel  with  the  stage  head,  and  the  pole 
coming  into  Emile's  hands  deceived  him  into 

thinking  that  the  stage  was  above  him  as  usual. 

106 


The  Triple  Alliance 

He  promptly  stepped  off  the  boat,  and  natu- 
rally fell  into  the  water.  Naturally  also,  it 
shook  Emile  up  a  good  deal,  for  he  was  in  the 
water  quite  a  while.  After  the  incident  Ike's 
tender  heart  had  made  him  absolutely  refuse 
the  responsibility  of  a  blind  man  in  a  small 
boat  in  fall  weather.  As  we  walked  up  the 
wharf  together  Emile  told  me  many  more  such 
details  of  the  transactions  of  our  only  "triple 
alliance."  All  he  wanted  me  to  do  was  to  add 
up  his  own  tally  of  the  fish  he  had  caught, 
multiplying  it  by  a  reasonable  average  fish, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  family  help  him  to  get 
from  his  ally  a  return  for  his  labour  which 
would  enable  him  to  buy  food  for  the  winter 
for  Jeanie  and  the  little  girl. 

Fortunately  it  proved  to  be  not  too  late. 
You  cannot  "get  the  breeks  off  a  Highlander," 
and  after  a  week  or  two  not  a  cod  tail  or  a  cent 
would  have  been  available  from  Ike.  As  it  was, 
my  coming  to  the  assistance  of  my  poor  friend 
happened  to  save  the  "entente"  from  being  a 
tragedy,  and  enabled  us  to  relegate  the  whole 
incident  to  our  comedy  group. 

107 


Labrador  Days 

A  peremptory  order  to  Ike  to  wait  for  me  at 
midday  at  the  room  we  call  the  court-house 
would,  I  knew,  impress  him  with  the  necessity 
of  obedience,  far  more  than  a  second  visit  to 
his  cabin.  The  effort  which  the  journey  would 
cost  him  and  the  time  allowed  for  reflection 
would,  moreover,  punctuate  the  importance  of 
the  occasion. 

Emile's  calculation  of  the  amount  of  fish 
caught,  corrected  by  Karlek  by  the  simple 
process  of  multiplying  the  sum  by  two,  and 
with  a  bit  more  added  by  myself  to  be  sure  not 
to  underestimate  it,  formed  all  the  legal  data  I 
needed.  The  lean,  scrawny  figure  of  Ike,  twist- 
ing and  squirming  with  evident  uneasiness, 
awaited  my  arrival  at  the  appointed  time. 
Ike's  fear  of  "t*  Law"  was  the  superstition  of 
a  child.  It  was  to  him  a  great  big  man  wait- 
ing to  pounce  upon  you  and  "lug  youse  away." 
Indeed,  I  learned  afterwards  that  he  had 
stayed  in  bed  for  fear  of  being  carried  off 
surreptitiously.  "  'T  is  a  lonesome  spot  I  lives 
in,"  he  had  explained. 

"To  steal  from  a  blind  man,  Ike,"  I  began, 
108 


The  Triple  Alliance 

"is  bad.  Moreover,  it  does  n't  bring  any  one 
any  luck  ever.  Where  have  you  put  those  sixty 
quintals  of  fish  which  belong  to  Emile?  " 

"It  took  more'n  half  t'  voyage,  believe  me, 
Doctor,  to  meet  t'  summer's  expenses.  There 
wasn't  more'n  thirty  quintals  all  told,  and 
half  of  that  was  mine.  Samuels  only  allowed  we 
four  dollars  a  quintal,  and  his  flour  was  eight, 
and  molasses  seventy  cents.  He  said  he'd  land 
Emile's  share  when  he  comes  in  on  his  home 
trip." 

"The  Law  will  have  to  send  down  and 
search  your  house  and  all  around  it,  and  cany 
off  things  while  you  wait  here,  and  you  won't 
get  any  credit  for  it  either.  I  told  you  there  was 
no  luck  for  those  who  rob  a  blind  man,  unless 
they  confess  hi  time.  I  '11  come  back  in  half  an 
hour  for  your  decision. "  And,  having  an  un- 
fair advantage  of  a  one-legged  man,  I  locked 
the  door  and  was  well  down  the  road  before 
Ike  had  made  a  move. 

Our  little  rickety  court-house,  in  order  to 
be  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  stands  on  a 
rocky  hill-crest  away  by  itself.  When  the  wind 

109 


Labrador  Days 

blows  high,  awesome  noises  with  much  creak- 
ing and  groaning  help  to  suggest  to  the  guilty 
conscience  that  supernatural  agencies  are  at 
work.  The  half -hour  was  purposely  a  long  one, 
and  had  the  desired  effect.  Ike  made  a  full 
confession  of  his  delinquencies  and  promised 
reparation.  An  immediate  search  while  he  was 
in  this  frame  of  mind  revealed  that  Emile's 
winter  food  could  only  be  obtained  by  leaving 
Ike  to  a  diet  of  hope  and  charity.  The  lesson 
being  necessary,  however,  the  whole  of  his 
supplies  were  loaded  into  the  boat,  and  Ike 
condemned  to  row  it  to  Emile's  house  and 
land  it  at  once.  It  was  late  and  dark,  but  the 
fear  of  what  might  happen  to  him  alone  on  his 
point,  now  that  it  was  known  that  he  had 
robbed  a  blind  man,  held  more  terrors  even 
than  hunger  for  Ike.  So  the  judgment  of  the 
court  was  carried  out  that  very  night. 

Partly  moved  by  curiosity,  Christmas  found 
me  once  again  visiting  the  mansion  under  the 
cliff.  A  shortage  in  the  commissariat  was,  I 
knew,  no  new  experience  to  the  poor  fellow, 
and  even  the  wiles  of  a  "one-legger"  cannot 

110 


The  Triple  Alliance 

convert  stones  into  bread.  Ike,  radiant  with 
smiles  and  fat  as  a  spring  seal,  was  out  to  meet 
me  on  my  arrival  —  which  circumstance  was 
a  little  difficult  at  first  to  understand.  Then  he 
explained : 

"You'm  right,  Doctor.  It  drives  away  t* 
bad  luck  when  you  pays  up  a  blind  man.  I 
has  n't  wanted  ne'er  a  t'ing  since." 

It  had  been  a  good  voyage  that  year,  and,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  every  one  had  a  warm  spot 
somewhere  in  his  heart  for  "  that  rascal  Ike." 
For  though  he  was  admittedly  a  rogue,  he  was 
always  such  an  amusing,  hail-fellow-well-met 
rogue,  and  not  the  really  mean  type  which 
every  one  dislikes.  All  the  shore  had  heard  of 
his  dilemma,  and,  isolation  not  allowing  one 
man  to  know  what  another  is  doing,  indiscrim- 
inate charity  had  poured  in  upon  poor  Ike, 
without  possibly  doing  him  much  harm,  for  he 
attributed  it  absolutely  to  that  oftentimes  use- 
ful mentor  of  the  feeble-minded,  the  great  god 
of  good  luck. 

To  my  surprise  it  was  Emile  who  really  suf- 
fered most,  though  he  would  not  admit  it,  but 

111 


Labrador  Days 

by  actual  computation  of  the  supplies  in  his 
very  give-away  storeroom,  I  learned  that  he 
had  secretly  carried  back  to  Ike's  beach  in  the 
dark  just  one  half  of  those  goods  which  "t* 
Law"  had  recovered  for  him;  and  which  Ike 
to  this  day  believes  were  deposited  for  his 
benefit  by  the  good-luck  fairy. 


PORTLAND  BILL 

"IT  must  be  nigh  sixty  years  ago,  but  I  re- 
members it  as  if  it  was  yesterday,  when  a  new 
settler  come  to  live  in  our  harbour,"  said 
Skipper  Life  Flynn,  at  whose  house  I  was 
spending  the  night  with  my  driver  and  dogs. 

"Life"  was  short  for  Eliphoreth  —  the 
"  given  "  names  being  mostly  out  of  the  Bible 
down  North.  "  It  were  a  wonderful  thing  them 
days,  for  Father  were  the  only  Liveyer  then  — 
that  is,  as  stayed  all  the  year  round.  He  did  n't 
mind  being  alone,  and  t'  moving  in  t'  schooner 
every  spring  and  fall  were  bad  for  Mother.  Fish 
were  plenty  every  season  one  side  or  t'  other 
of  Deadman's  Cape,  and  there  was  lots  of  fur 
and  swiles  t'  winter.  So  he  built  a  house  in 
Sleepy  Cove,  and  there  us  grew  up! 

"No,  Doctor,  I'm  not  able  now  to  read  and 
write.  None  of  us  is,  for  us  had  no  teachers. 
But  we  was  all  big,  strong  men,  and  handy  at 
that,  and  there  was  n't  a  thing  to  be  done  wi' 
axe  or  saw  about  boats  and  timber  us  could 

113 


Labrador  Days 

n't  do. We  made  a  good  deal  at  furring,  too,  and 
many 's  and  many 's  t'  night  in  winter  I've  laid 
down  under  t'  trees  and  slept  —  with  ne'er  a 
greatcoat  neither.  An'  if  us  was  n't  brought  up 
scholars,  Father  taught  us  to  be  honest,  and 
to  fear  God  and  nothing  and  nobody  else. 

"It  were  our  way  them  days  to  greet  every 
stranger  as  a  friend,  and  so  when  Bill  started 
his  cabin,  —  for  that  was  all  it  ever  were,  —  us 
lads  all  went  in  and  helped  him  chop  and  saw  t' 
logs  for  studding. 

"In  winter  Father  minded  t'  big  French 
Room;  but  he  were  away  hunting  most  of  t' 
time,  there  being  no  need  to  watch  much,  be- 
ing as  there  was  no  one  besides  ourselves  any- 
where near.  But  early  spring  and  late  fall 
when  t'  fleets  were  passing,  it  were  day  and 
night  watch,  and  not  without  a  gun  neither. 

"But  it  would  have  paid  us  better  to  have 
watched  that  whiter;  for  when  t'  Frenchmen 
come  in  t'  spring  there  was  a  number  of  little 
things  missing  that  Father  had  to  stand  to  — 
and,  somehow,  us  never  suspected  t'  new- 
comer. 

114 


Portland  Bill 

"It  was  only  long  afterwards  us  learned  how 
t'  new  settler  come  by  his  name —  which  was 
'Skipper  Bill  Portland.'  Seems  that's  where 
the  big  English  convict  prison  is.  So  after  Bill 
escaped,  he  not  being  good  at  letters,  and  not 
wanting  exactly  to  use  his  own  name,  he  just 
twisted  her  round,  and  to  this  day  no  one's 
ever  found  out  really  who  he  was  before. 

"Hundreds  of  schooners  anchored  in  the 
Bight  in  our  harbour  that  spring,  t'  whitecoats 
having  come  right  in  on  t'  floe,  just  t'  other 
side  of  t'  Deadman's  Cape.  One  day  a  schooner 
captain  read  we  a  piece  in  t'  papers  about  a 
man  what  had  been  a  pirate,  what  had  es- 
caped to  Newfoundland;  and  a  hundred  dol- 
lars was  being  offered  for  his  head.  Reading 
about  that  man  made  us  all  think  of  Skipper 
Portland.  It  were  his  build  and  his  kind,  too. 
But  us  folk  never  mixed  with  that  kind  of 
work;  and  all  us  did  was  to  keep  a  good  look- 
out for  t'  future.  But  a  poor  neighbour  he 
proved  to  be,  for  he  were  as  cute  as  a  fox,  and 
he  had  no  fear  o'  nothing. 

"  He  were  n't  no  idle  man,  though,  Skipper 
115 


Labrador  Days 

Bill  were  n't.  That  second  winter  he  set  to  and 
built  a  ten-tonner  all  by  hisself  —  that  is,  t' 
hull.  He  had  galvanized  fastenings  for  her,  such 
as  he  never  bought  fair  hi  Newfoundland.  But 
o'  course  he  had  no  gear  to  fit  her  out,  and  he 
could  n't  get  any  more  than  he  'd  got  already 
off  our  room.  We  lads  saw  to  that,  and  he  knew 
it,  too  —  and  that  it  were  n't  safe  playing  no 
games,  neither. 

"He  were  away  t'  following  winter,  *  fur- 
ring,' so  he  told  we,  but  no  fox  could  ever  get 
fooled  by  a  trap  Skipper  Bill  set.  It  were  n't  in 
his  line,  getting  round  animals.  Beyond  which 
he  had  ne'er  a  trap.  He  'lowed  he  just  set  dead- 
falls —  a  good  name  for  his  work,  I  'm  think- 
ing now.  Anyhow,  he  came  back  with  enough 
gear,  stolen  off  French  Rooms  to  t'  south, 
I  reckon,  to  get  his  boat  afloat  by  t*  time  t' 
owners  got  back. 

"She  were  an  odd  craft,  built  for  a  crew  of 
one  man  only.  For  Skipper  Bill  had  n't  much 
trust  hi  any  man  'cept  hisself.  Once  when  he 
were  full  o'  French  brandy  he  told  me  that 

when  he  were  working  on  t'  cliffs  in  England, 

116 


Portland  Bill 

he  found  out  that  his  mate  were  going  to 
*  squeal/  as  he  called  it,  about  his  leaving,  so 
he'd  given  him  such  a  kick  behind  when  he 
were  n't  expecting  it  that  no  one  had  ever  heard 
from  him  since.  He  meant,  we  reckoned,  that  t' 
poor  fellow  had  fell  off  t'  bill  into  t'  sea. 

"  When  he  built  that  boat  he  were  thinking 
already  that  he  might  have  to  leave  sudden, 
and  perhaps  a  crew  would  n't  be  willing  to, 
even  if  he  got  one.  So  he  trimmed  his  teller  lan- 
yards to  run  f orrard,  so  as  he  could  steer  before 
t'  foremast,  and  handle  t'  headsheets  hisself 
going  to  windward,  and  at  t'  same  time  keep  a 
lookout  for  ice  and  slob. 

"Many's  t'  time  I've  seen  him  sailing  along 
with  ne'er  a  watch  on  deck  at  all,  he  being  be- 
low aft  steering  by  compass  from  t'  locker, 
with  t'  tiller  lines  leading  down  the  companion 
hatch. 

"I  minds  one  fall  that  he  brought  in  a  big 
cask  o'  rum  and  a  lot  o'  brandy,  which  he  were 
going  to  sell  to  us  folk.  But  Father  would  n't 
stand  for  that.  He  said  that  he  'd  seen  too  much 
of  it  when  he  were  young  to  want  any  more 

117 


Labrador  Days 

lying  round.  We  lads  found  it  only  fun  to  go 
over  and  knock  t'  heads  in,  and  hear  what  old 
Portland  had  to  say  about  we. 

"One  day,  however,  a  fellow  all  dressed  in 
blue  came  down  from  St.  John's  to  take  he 
along,  and  before  Bill  knew  it  t'  boat  were 
alongside  his  craft  and  t'  man  calling  he  to 
come  ashore.  Bill  knowed  what  he  were  at  once. 
He'd  had  experience.  'All  right,  Officer,'  he 
said,  'I'll  just  get  my  coat  and  come  along.' 
But  when  he  come  up  on  deck  he  had  a  barrel 
of  gunpowder  all  open  and  a  box  of  matches  in 
his  hand.  'Come  on,  now,'  he  shouted  with  an 
oath,  'let's  all  go  to  hell  together.'  But  just  as 
soon  as  ever  t'  small  boat  backed  off,  he  runs 
f orrard  and  slips  his  cable,  and  was  off  before  t' 
wind  before  youse  could  say  'Jack  Robinson.' 

"  He  always  left  his  mainsail  up,  Skipper  Bill 
did.  'Better  be  sure  than  sorry '  was  a  rule  he 
always  told  us  were  his  religion. 

"T'  policeman  seemed  in  two  minds  about 
following  t'  boat,  but  when  she  rounded  Dead- 
man's  Cape,  he  rows  back  ashore.  I  minds 
running  up  t'  hill  to  watch  where  Skipper  Bill 

118 


Portland  Bill 

would  go,  but  he  stood  right  on  across  for  t' 
Larbadore.  T'  policeman  said  that  that  were 
n't  his  beat;  and  he  looked  glad  enough  that  it 
were  n't  neither.  Old  Portland  never  came  back 
to  Sleepy  Cove  to  live.  He  just  left  everything 
standing  —  which  were  mostly  only  what  he 
could  n't  take  away  with  him  anyhow. 

"That  fall  one  of  t'  Frenchmen  stowed  away 
in  t'  woods  when  their  ship  was  getting  ready 
for  home.  His  name  was  Louis  Marteau;  and 
his  vessel  had  no  sooner  gone  than  in  he  goes 
and  lives  in  Bill's  house  across  t'  cove.  Things 
got  missing  again  that  winter,  and  though 
Father  had  to  feed  him,  seeing  that  he  had  n't 
been  able  to  steal  a  diet,  we  lads  give  him  no- 
tice to  quit  in  t'  spring.  As  he  did  n't  show  no 
signs  of  moving,  us  just  put  a  couple  of  big 
trees  for  shoes  under  t'  house,  and  ran  it  and 
Louis,  too,  out  onto  t'  ice  as  far  as  t'  cape  —  a 
matter  of  two  miles  or  more. 

"So  us  thought  us  had  done  with  both  of 
them,  and  a  good  riddance  too;  but  when  t' 
spring  opened  t'  Frenchman  wrote  up  to  t' 
English  man-o'-war  captain  to  come  in  and 

119 


Labrador  Days 

find  out  about  t'  things  what  they'd  lost.  So 
one  day  in  comes  t'  big  ship  and  anchors  right 
alongside  in  our  bay.  1"  very  first  man  to  come 
rowing  across  and  go  aboard  to  see  what  he 
could  get,  I  reckon,  was  Louis  Marteau.  When 
t'  captain  asked  him  what  he  wanted,  he  said 
that  he  had  come  over  to  ask  him  to  send  a 
boat  to  t*  cape  to  search  his  rooms,  as  t* 
neighbours  blamed  he  for  having  taken  their 
things. 

"Well,  it  were  a  long  way  to  go  and  there 
were  no  motor  boats  them  days;  and  t'  captain 
must  have  thought  if  Louis  had  taken  any- 
thing he  had  it  hid  away  where  no  one  would 
find  it.  So  they  just  did  n't  take  t'  trouble  to 
send  out  a  crew  and  look.  At  the  same  time 
Louis  had  stolen  fish  drying  on  his  flakes,  and 
stolen  twine  right  in  his  open  fish  stage  to  go 
and  catch  more  with. 

"Another  steamer  came  in  t*  fall,  and  Louis, 
thinking  that  t'  trouble  had  blown  over,  went 
aboard  as  usual.  One  of  t'  officers,  thinking 
that  the  man  was  just  a  fisherman,  and  as  sim- 
ple as  most  o'  we,  asked  him  if  he  did  n't  know 

120 


Portland  Bill 

where  a  man  called  Louis  Marteau  was.  'Yes/ 
said  Louis, '  I  knows  he  well.  He  be  here  to-day, 
and  gone  to-morrow'  —  and  with  that  he  slips 
away,  and  was  far  enough  in  the  woods  for 
safety  long  before  the  searching  party  landed. 
"Louis,  like  old  Bill,  was  as  fond  o'  liquor  as 
a  cat  is  o'  milk;  and  when  he  got  French  brandy 
in  him,  he  did  n't  care  what  he  did.  There  be 
only  one  law  here  which  every  one  keeps,  as 
you  knows,  Doctor,  on  this  coast.  Whatever 
else  you  does,  you  must  never  touch  t'  prop- 
erty of  another  settler,  whether  he  be  good  or 
bad,  or  whether  he  be  away  fishing,  or  whether 
he  be  in  America.  Because  any  time  he  may 
need  to  come  back,  and  that  many  are  away 
summers  fishing,  if  they  can't  leave  their 
homes  locked  and  feel  'em  safe,  they  can't  live 
at  all.  So  everybody  minds  that  law,  whether 
it  be  written  in  St.  John's  or  not.  There  are 
new  stages,  yes,  and  houses,  too,  and  plenty  of 
'em,  and  boats  hauled  up,  that  men  has  left 
and  gone  to  Canada  years  ago.  They're  tum- 
bling down  right  alongside  folk  as  needs  'em  as 
bad  as  gold  just  for  firewood,  but  ne'er  a  stick 

121 


Labrador  Days 

is  touched  come  year,  go  year  —  not  till  they 
rots  or  t'  sea  comes  and  carries  'em  away. 

"Well,  Louis  and  a  man  called  Tom  Marling 
got  some  liquor  aboard  that  day,  and  started 
scrapping,  Marling  saying  that  Louis  must  be 
a  crook  or  he  would  n't  steal  another  man's 
house.  T'  end  of  that  was  that  Louis  shot 
Marling  through  the  shoulder  and  nearly  blew 
his  arm  off. 

"Next  spring  a  large  bully  sailed  across  t' 
Straits  and  four  men  landed  in  my  cove.  It 
chanced  that  old  Skipper  Sam  Brewer  caught 
sight  of  'em,  and  he  recognized  Bill  Portland 
from  t'  old  days.  T'  other  three  was  Tom  Mar- 
ling's  brothers.  All  t'  men  had  guns,  and  old 
Skipper  Sam  guessed  they  was  after  Louis.  So 
he  sent  off  his  lad  Mose  to  run  out  to  t'  cape 
and  give  he  warning.  Though  why  he  should  I 
can't  say.  Louis  just  said,  'All  right,  I'll  be 
ready  for  'em,  boy,'  and  started  right  in  load- 
ing his  two  big  guns  and  his  rifle.  Then  he  fixed 
up  t'  windows  and  barred  t'  door,  and  when 
Mose  come  away  he  could  see  Louis  moving 
round  inside  and  swearing  enough  to  frighten 


Portland  Bill 

t*  fish  off  t'  coast  for  t'  whole  summer.  Mose 
waited  round  out  of  sight  all  day  to  see  what 
would  happen.  But  nothing  did,  only  before 
dark  he  saw  the  four  men  making  their  camp- 
fire  on  the  edge  of  the  woods  near  Louis's 
house.  I  reckon  they  knew  he'd  be  ready  and 
wanted  to  keep  him  waiting.  Anyway,  they 
was  there  all  next  day. 

"T"  third  morning  I  caught  sight  of  some 
men  loading  a  boat  at  Louis's  stage,  so,  being 
only  a  hobbledehoy  then,  I  guessed  they  'd  not 
take  much  notice  of  me,  and  no  more  they  did. 
They  told  me  Louis  had  tried  to  break  away  t' 
second  night  in  t'  dark,  but  they  caught  him 
and  carried  his  pack  back  for  him,  and  what 
else  they  did  to  he  I  don't  rightly  know.  Any- 
how, they  loaded  up  their  own  boat  and  then 
Louis's  two  boats  with  fish  and  twine,  and 
everything  else  that  were  worth  taking  and 
they  could  stow,  not  forgetting  t'  barrel  of 
flour  and  t'  keg  of  molasses. 

"  Skipper  Bill  told  me  that  t'  Governor  of- 
fered to  make  him  t'  captain  of  a  man-o'-war, 
just  to  stop  t'  law-breaking  on  the  coast.  But 

123 


Labrador  Days 

he  were  a  policeman  instead  because  he  felt 
ashamed  to  see  t'  laws  broken  and  villains  like 
Louis  go  free.  'It's  to  teach  you  people  on  t' 
coast  to  be  good  boys  what  brings  us  away 
from  our  homes  so  far  in  t'  fishing  season.' 

"  They  never  stopped  loading  a  minute  all  t' 
time,  and  as  soon  as  ever  they  were  ready,  and 
that  was  n't  long  after  it  were  light,  away  they 
goes  towing  t'  two  boats  behind,  and  giving  it 
to  her  straight  for  t'  Labrador.  'Skipper  Life,' 
Bill  shouted,  just  after  the  anchor  was  up, 
'if  you  sees  Louis  be  sure  and  tell  him  to  be 
good  and  say  his  prayers,  and  when  he  is 
ready,  not  to  forget  his  uncles  in  Labrador  and 
come  over  and  settle  down  peaceful  like.' 

"  No,  Doctor,  Louis  never  got  so  much  as  a 
match  back,  though  he  wrote  and  wrote  about 
it  —  and  Louis  were  a  good  scholar,  being  well 
learnt  in  France.  All  t'  Government  did  was  to 
offer  Captain  Fordland,  who  fished  t'  big  Jer- 
sey rooms  across  near  Isle  au  Loup  on  Labra- 
dor, another  hundred  dollars  to  bring  back 
Skipper  Bill  with  him  in  t'  fall.  T'  captain  told 
his  men  that  they  could  divide  t'  money 

124 


Portland  Bill 

if  they  liked  to  catch  old  Portland  out  of 
hours. 

"  I  'lows  it  was  more  t'  fun  of  hunting  than 
anything  else  that  started  'em,  though  two 
hundred  dollars  cash  meant  a  nice  bit  in  them 
times.  Soon  there  were  half  a  dozen  small 
crowds  keeping  an  eye  out  for  Bill.  There  were 
no  wires  or  mail  steamers  to  carry  news  them 
days,  and  it  so  happened  that  Bill  fell  right 
into  t'  trap.  For  Captain  Fordland  did  a  bit  o* 
trade,  and  Bill,  being  out  of  flour,  come  along 
to  buy  a  barrel.  Half  a  dozen  men  soon  had  him 
and  his  boat  as  well.  T'  trouble  was  where  to 
keep  him  till  they  went  home  in  t'  fall,  which 
was  a  full  two  months  anyhow. 

"  The  crowd  what  took  him  got  leave  from 
Skipper  Fordland  to  lock  Bill  up  in  t'  top 
storey  of  t'  old  Jersey  brick  store  on  the  Island; 
and  'em  fixed  it  like  sailors  so  that  not  even  Bill 
should  get  away.  They  had  to  share  t*  expense 
of  feeding  and  looking  after  he  between  'em, 
and  though  they  did  n't  give  he  none  too 
much  it  took  quite  a  bit  of  their  wages  — 
only  a  hundred  dollars  for  the  whole  summer. 

125 


Labrador  Days 

"  Bill  had  been  there  nearly  six  weeks  and 
all  hands  were  thinking  of  going  home,  when 
one  day  he  told  t*  cook  who  brought  up  his 
food  that  he  was  fair  dying  of  doing  nothing, 
and  could  n't  he  give  him  some  work.  Be- 
ing an  old  sailor,  he  set  Bill  to  making  bread 
bags,  and  for  a  few  days  he  made  a  whole  lot, 
and  t*  cook  took  it  easy.  All  he  gave  Bill  was 
some  canvas,  a  pocket-knife,  and  some  needles 
and  thread.  Bill,  however,  saved  a  lot  of  canvas 
out  of  them  bags  and  made  himself  a  long  rope 
of  it.  Then  he  just  worked  on,  waiting  for  a  real 
dark  night  and  an  offshore  wind,  when  he  let 
hisself  down  through  t'  window,  swam  off  to  t' 
best  fishing  bully  Captain  Fordland  had,  and 
was  out  of  sight  before  daylight. 

"You  may  bet  they  was  all  mad,  more  es- 
pecially t'  captain,  who  swore  that  t'  crowd 
would  have  to  pay  for  his  good  boat.  What 
they  said  and  did  to  t'  cook  be  scarcely  fit  for 
ears  to  hear.  Anyhow,  no  one  knowed  where 
Bill  had  gone,  and  none  of  that  crowd  ever  saw 
him  again.  He  were  n't  very  dear  to  memory 
either. 

126 


Portland  Bill 

"T"  next  place  us  heard  of  him  was  on  the 
West  Coast.  He  brought  with  him  an  Eskimo 
wife  he  called  Nancy,  who  was  very  good  at 
doctoring.  She  could  make  poultices  out  of 
herbs  and  medicines  out  of  t'  woods,  and  she 
would  charm  toothache  and  warts  and  such 
like,  and  could  stop  bleeding  by  just  tying 
green  worsted  round  your  left  arm.  She  had  a 
haddock's  fin-bone  that  never  touched  any 
boat  that  she  used  to  lend  out  for  rheumatism. 
She  did  a  lot  o'  good,  they  says,  Doctor,  and 
she  made  a  nice  bit  of  money,  too,  so  that  old 
Bill  had  an  easy  time.  But  he  spent  most  of  t' 
cash  hi  liquor,  and  at  last  she  would  n't  work 
any  more  for  he  and  he  got  beating  her.  One 
day  he  come  rowing  down  right  into  Port  War- 
field,  with  she  tied  up  in  t'  bottom  of  t*  boat, 
and  a  stone  tied  round  her  neck  as  well !  It  so 
happened  that  big  Skipper  Weymouth  came 
alongside  and  seed  her. 

'What  be  you  going  to  do  wi'  she?'  he 
asked,  he  not  being  afraid  as  most  were.  '  Why 
drown  her,  to  be  sure,'  said  Bill.  'I  towed  her 

behind  t'  boat  for  a  mile  a  week  ago  come  Sun- 

127 


Labrador  Days 

day  to  drive  t'  devil  out  of  her.  But  she  ain't 
no  good  to  me  now,  and  so  I  reckon  I'll  get 
another/ 

"The  skipper  saw  that  Bill  had  liquor  in 
him  and  was  quarrelsome,  and  feared  that  he  'd 
just  as  likely  as  not  upset  t*  boat  —  and 
drowned  t'  woman  would  be  sure  enough  with 
that  stone  round  her  neck.  So  he  says,  *  Drown 
her!  Not  on  this  coast  and  lobsters  just  setting 
in.  She'd  spoil  the  catch  all  summer  just  to 
spite  you.'  Bill  looked  puzzled.  'You're  right, 
sure  enough,  Skipper  Alf.  I'll  have  to  do  for 
she  some  other  way'  —  and  round  he  goes  and 
rows  her  home  again. 

"  The  people,  howsomever,  was  real  afraid, 
and  letters  went  up  to  the  Government.  No 
doubt  Bill  heard  about  it.  But  there  were  no 
place  left  now  for  him  to  go  safely,  so  he  just 
drank  and  drank  where  he  was,  all  he  could 
lay  hands  on;  and  when  he  could  n't  get  no 
more  I  guess  he  must  have  gone  mad.  For  he 
were  found  dead  on  t'  floor  of  his  house,  with  a 
great  big  knife  he  had  for  hunting  deer  in  his 

hand. 

128 


Portland  Bill 

"Yes,  his  wife 's  alive  to  this  day  so  far  as  us 
knows.  Her  son  Bill  found  a  box  of  old  silver 
dollars,  Spanish  and  French,  buried  under  t* 
house  Bill  had  on  Labrador,  the  time  he  were 
trapped  by  Captain  Fordland's  men.  They 
were  mostly  about  a  hundred  years  old.  I  saw 
many  of  them,  but  where  they  come  from,  or 
how  he  come  by  'em,  no  one  ever  knew.  We 
heard,  however,  that  they  helped  poor  Nancy 
to  get  back  to  her  people  again  all  right." 


KAIACHOUOUK 

THE  brief  summer  of  Northern  Labrador  had 
passed,  and  the  Eskimos  around  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Post  at  Katatallik  were  busy  preparing 
for  the  approaching  winter.  The  season  previ- 
ous, according  to  the  accurate  notes  of  the 
Moravians,  kept  for  over  a  hundred  years,  had 
been  the  worst  on  record;  and  now  again,  as 
the  long,  cold,  icy  grip  of  winter  drew  near, 
the  prospect  of  supplies  was  menacingly  poor. 
So  the  Innuits,  that  cheerful  and  resourceful 
little  race  of  the  North  who  wrest  their  living 
from  so  reluctant  an  environment,  were  put- 
ting forth  all  their  energies  in  a  "prepared- 
ness" from  whose  example  many  a  civilized 
community  might  well  have  profited. 

Their  chief  Kaiachououk,  of  upright  char- 
acter, and  the  courage  born  of  simplicity,  was 
a  familiar  figure  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  Post 
where  my  friend  Barlow  was  facteur  for  so 
many  years.  His  acquaintance  with  the  chief- 
tain dated  from  an  afternoon  many  years  be- 

130 


Kaiachououk 

fore,  when  he  had  first  seen  him,  steering  his 
large  oomiavik,  or  flat-bottomed  boat,  up  to 
the  station,  while  his  four  lusty  wives  cheerily 
worked  at  the  sweeps  with  his  eldest  son  —  an 
almost  regal  procession.  It  was  on  that  same 
evening  that  he  had  told  the  facteur,  after 
watching  Mrs.  Barlow  prepare  the  evening 
meal,  "Ananaudlualakuk"  ("She  is  much  too 
good  for  you"),  and  the  frankness  of  his  speech, 
far  from  seeming  to  disparage  his  host,  en- 
deared the  speaker  all  the  more  to  that  hos- 
pitable and  discerning  person. 

Kaiachououk  possessed  qualities  which 
evoked  the  respect  and  admiration  of  all  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  Very  noticeable 
among  these  was  his  affection  for  his  family. 
To  this  day  on  the  coast  there  is  a  story  told 
of  him  and  his  youngest  wife.  He  had  been 
camping  on  their  outside  walrus-hunting  sta- 
tion, and  as  was  customary,  he  was  sometimes 
away  two  or  three  days  at  a  time,  having  to 
take  refuge  on  one  of  the  off-lying  islands,  if 
bad  weather  or  the  fickleness  of  fortune  in- 
volved longer  distances  to  travel  than  he  was 

131 


Labrador  Days 

able  to  accomplish  in  a  short  winter's  day.  It 
was  on  his  return  from  one  of  these  temporary 
absences  that  he  was  greeted  with  ths  news 
that  his  youngest  wife,  Kajue,  was  very  ill. 
One  might  have  supposed  that  having  so  gen- 
erous a  complement  of  that  nature,  the  news 
would  not  have  afflicted  him  in  the  same  de- 
gree as  one  less  gifted.  But  exactly  the  reverse 
proved  to  be  the  case.  Kaiachououk  was  com- 
pletely prostrated;  and  when  the  girl  died  two 
days  later,  having  failed  to  make  any  rally  in 
spite  of  all  her  husband's  generous  presents  to 
Angelok,  he  literally  went  out  of  his  mind. 

The  Eskimo  custom,  still  observed  in  the 
North,  is  to  lay  out  the  dead  in  all  their  cloth- 
ing, but  with  no  other  covering,  on  the  rocky 
summit  of  some  projecting  headland.  The  body 
thus  placed  on  the  surface  of  the  rocks  is 
walled  in  with  tall,  flat  stones  standing  on  end, 
long,  narrow  slits  being  left  between  them,  so 
that  air  and  light  may  freely  circulate,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  departed  may  come  and  go  at 
will  and  keep  watch  on  passing  animals,  whose 

spirits  must  serve  the  person  in  the  spirit  land 

132 


Kaiachououk 

just  as,  when  embodied,  they  paid  tribute  to 
the  needs  and  prowess  of  the  dead.  The  top  of 
the  grave  is  also  covered  with  large,  flat  slabs; 
and  in  a  small  separate  cache  of  similar  con- 
struction are  stored  all  the  personal  belongings 
likely  to  be  of  use.  The  spirits  of  these  latter 
are  set  free,  either  by  having  holes  bored  hi 
them  or  some  part  of  them  broken  or  removed, 
so  that  thus  being  rendered  useless  to  the  liv- 
ing, they  suffer  what  in  the  Eskimo  mind  cor- 
responds to  the  death  of  inanimate  objects. 

Kaiachououk  was  so  convinced  of  the  reality 
of  the  spirit  world,  and  so  heart-broken  at  his 
utter  inability  to  bring  back  to  life  the  one  he 
had  loved  so  well,  that  now  nothing  would  sat- 
isfy his  mind  but  that  in  order  to  continue  the 
communion  which  had  been  so  sweet  to  him  on 
earth,  he  should  be  treated  exactly  as  his  lost 
wife,  and  be  immediately  buried  alongside  her 
on  some  point  of  vantage. 

At  first  his  followers  were  inclined  to  treat 
his  injunctions  as  mere  vapourings,  but  they 
finally  realized  that  the  man  was  in  deadly 
earnest,  and  were  eventually  compelled  to 

133 


Labrador  Days 

comply  with  his  wishes.  The  day  being  set,  he 
was  accordingly  dressed  in  his  finest  garments, 
and,  his  dead  wife  being  duly  caparisoned  and 
walled  in  in  the  customary  manner,  Kaiachou- 
ouk,  laid  out  on  the  rock  beside  her,  was 
treated  in  an  exactly  similar  fashion.  There  was 
no  apparent  alteration  of  the  chief's  attitude 
of  mind  as  they  proceeded  with  the  walling  up, 
and  the  heavy  slabs  were  already  being  laid 
over  him  when  two  of  the  largest  happened  to 
become  lodged  on  his  chest.  For  a  short  time 
he  made  no  sign  and  offered  no  kind  of  resist- 
ance; but  it  was  gradually  forced  upon  him 
that  this  method  of  translation  into  other 
worlds  was  far  from  being  as  easy  as  he  had 
been  inclined  to  suppose.  Consequently,  before 
the  cortege  had  broken  up  and  his  last  friends 
departed,  he  was  loudly  appealing  to  them  to 
return  and  release  him. 

He  was  never  known  afterwards  to  refer  to 
the  incident;  but  on  the  whole  it  had  an  excel- 
lent effect  on  the  Innuits;  and  they  realized,  so 
far  as  their  unimpressionable  natures  are  ca- 
pable of  doing,  the  strong  domestic  affection 

134 


Kaiachououk 

for  his  wife  which  was  one  of  their  chief's  pre- 
eminent sources  of  greatness. 

On  this  particular  fall,  when  the  last  drama 
in  Kaiachououk's  life  was  played,  when  the 
northern  lights  sent  their  many-coloured  ban- 
ners floating  over  the  heavens,  and  the  stars 
looked  so  large  and  shining  that  it  seemed  one 
must  surely  touch  them  from  the  tops  of  the 
high  hills,  he  was  camping  with  his  family  and 
two  or  three  others  on  a  small  ledge  at  the  foot 
of  the  mighty  Kiglapeit  (shining  top)  Moun- 
tains, hunting  walrus.  This  year  the  hunt  was 
doubly  important  to  them,  and  they  delayed 
longer  than  was  their  wont.  Here  the  great 
cape  with  which  the  spur  ends  marks  the  divi- 
sion of  the  whole  trend  of  the  land  north  from 
that  which  runs  more  directly  south  toward 
Katatallik.  There  the  whole  force  of  the  south- 
going  polar  streams,  focused  on  the  ice,  keeps 
open  water  long  after  all  the  rest  of  the  coast 
is  locked  in  the  grim  grip  of  winter.  The  walrus 
herds  seem,  in  the  evolution  of  ages,  to  have 
got  an  appreciation  of  this  fact  through  their 

adamantine  skulls.  Therefore,  from  time  im- 

135 


Labrador  Days 

memorial,  it  has  been  chosen  as  a  rendezvous 
of  the  Innuits  in  spring  and  fall.  The  chaos 
of  ancient  walrus  bones  which  strews  the  stony 
beach  reminds  one  of  nothing  so  forcibly  as  the 
stacks  of  bleaching  buffalo  bones  which  dis- 
grace the  prairies. 

On  several  occasions  during  the  year  previ- 
ous, Kalleligak  (the  Capelin)  had  been  guilty 
of  the  worst  crime  in  the  Eskimo  calendar  — 
on  several  occasions  he  had  failed  to  extend 
that  hospitality  to  strangers  without  which  life 
on  the  coast  is  scarcely  possible.  It  had  been 
brought  to  Kaiachououk's  notice,  and  he  had 
lost  no  time  in  seeking  out  the  man  and  taxing 
him  with  his  remissness.  A  mixture  of  traits 
like  the  colours  in  a  variegated  skein  of  worsted 
formed  the  spectrum  of  Kalleligak's  character; 
and  selfishness,  which  fortunately  is  rarer 
among  the  Eskimos  than  among  those  in 
keener  competition  with  civilization,  was  too 
often  the  prevailing  colour.  After  the  inter- 
view, at  which  he  had  promised  to  mend  his 
ways,  he  apparently  always  lived  in  fear  that 

sooner  or  later  Kaiachououk  would  have  him 

136 


Kaiachououk 

punished,  and  even  deprive  him  of  some  of  his 
possessions.  The  obsession  haunted  him  as  the 
thought  of  the  crime  does  the  murderer,  and 
at  last  impelled  him  to  the  act  which,  though 
it  went  unpunished  by  men,  blasted  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days. 

Among  the  others  who  camped  around  Kai- 
achououk's  igloo  this  year  was  as  usual  the 
sub-chief  Kalleligak.  He  had  been  more  than 
usually  successful  in  his  hunt,  and  was  able  to 
face  the  prospect  of  the  oncoming  winter  with 
optimism.  On  the  other  hand,  his  supposed 
enemy,  Kaiachououk,  had  been  singularly 
unfortunate,  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that  his 
kayak  had  been  left  farther  to  the  north.  He 
showed  no  signs  of  either  impatience  or  jeal- 
ousy, however,  and  never  by  word  or  act  gave 
evidence  that  he  so  much  as  remembered  the 
rebuke  he  had  been  forced  to  administer  to  the 
sub-chief.  Finally  he  dispatched  his  eldest  sons, 
Bakshuak  and  Kommak,  with  a  big  team  of 
dogs,  to  hurry  down  north  and  bring  the  be- 
lated and  forgotten  boat  back  with  all  speed. 

Kalleligak,  obsessed  by  his  jealousy  and 
137 


Labrador  Days 

chagrin,  was  able  from  his  camp  to  watch  every 
movement  of  the  chief's.  He  positively  brooded 
so  much  over  the  incident  that  he  came  to  be- 
lieve that  his  life  was  in  danger  at  Kaiachou- 
ouk's  hands.  The  next  steps  were  easy,  for  he 
was  favoured  both  by  the  innocence  of  his 
superior  and  the  weather.  Days  are  short  in 
the  late  fall  in  the  North,  and  darkness  falls 
before  work  is  finished. 

In  the  late  afternoon,  two  days  after  Bak- 
shuak  and  Kommak's  departure,  while  Kai- 
achououk  was  still  out  of  his  igloo  and  the 
darkness  was  rapidly  coming  on,  Kalleligak 
stole  inside  and  took  the  chief's  gun.  This  he 
unloaded  and  then  reloaded  with  two  balls. 
Early  next  morning,  before  the  dawn,  he  crept 
out,  carrying  his  own  and  the  stolen  weapon,  to 
watch  his  chance.  Kaiachououk,  emerging  soon 
after  from  his  snow  house,  turned  his  back  on 
Kalleligak's  igloo  while  he  stooped  to  make  a 
trifling  repair  on  his  own.  Without  a  second's 
hesitation,  Kalleligak  seized  Kaiachououk's 
own  gun,  and  crawling  and  crouching  up  be- 
hind the  five-foot  snow  ramparts  which  the 

138 


Kaiachououk 

Eskimos  invariably  build  around  their  winter 
houses,  he  fired  two  bullets  through  the  un- 
suspecting man's  back  and  body.  The  chief 
fell  head  foremost,  having  received  two  fatal 
wounds;  but  Kalleligak,  throwing  down  one 
gun  had  instantly  grabbed  the  other,  in  order 
if  necessary  to  finish  the  deed  before  the  mor- 
tally wounded  man  could  tell  who  was  respon- 
sible. But  Kaiachououk  never  moved,  and  his 
enemy  slunk  inside,  believing  that  he  had  been 
unobserved. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  Anatalik,  another  of 
the  hunters,  appeared  at  the  entrance  of  his 
igloo  just  in  tune  to  see  the  smoking  gun-barrel 
over  the  edge  of  the  snow  wall.  Running  to  his 
fallen  chief,  he  begged  him  to  tell  him  what  had 
occurred.  The  dying  man  had  only  strength 
left  to  whisper  "Kiapevunga?"  ("Who  has 
killed  me?"),  and  Anatalik  could  barely  dis- 
cern from  his  eye  that  he  understood  the  an- 
swer, "Kalleligamut"  ("It  was  Kalleligak  who 
did  it"). 

It  was  probably  this,  to  us,  unimportant 
item  which  caused  a  confession  ever  to  be  made. 

139 


Labrador  Days 

Kalleligak,  now  convinced  that  the  spirit  of  his 
dead  chief  knew  he  was  the  murderer,  believed 
it  would  haunt  him  without  mercy,  and  that 
his  own  life  might  be  immediately  forfeit  un- 
less he  could  appease  it.  He  therefore  at  once 
set  about  preparations  for  a  funeral  befitting 
the  dignity  of  the  deceased;  which,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  Kaiachououk's  eldest  son,  he  himself 
personally  supervised.  When  all  was  over  he 
went  to  the  igloo  carrying  gifts,  and  offered  to 
support  the  entire  family  till  the  sons  should 
be  of  an  age  to  assume  it.  His  overtures  were 
as  unwelcome  as  they  were  importunate;  but 
the  poor  women  were  forced  to  listen  hi  silence. 
Helpless  as  they,  were,  with  their  young  men 
away,  they  dared  not  anger  the  man,  whose 
character  was  only  too  well  known.  Kalleligak, 
in  order  further  to  allay  the  anger  of  the  spirit, 
with  all  speed  set  out  on  the  trail  to  meet  the 
dead  man's  returning  sons,  and  apprize  them 
personally  of  his  version  of  the  story. 

Bakshuak,   the  eldest,  listened  in  silence 
while  Kalleligak  first  recounted  the  long  list  of 

imaginary  wrongs  which  he  had  suffered  at  the 

140 


Kaiachououk 

hands  of  his  father,  then  made  his  plea  of  self- 
defence,  and  lastly  recited  the  hateful  over- 
tures which  he  had  made  to  the  helpless 
family,  who  were  now,  in  spite  of  themselves, 
under  very  definite  obligations  to  the  murderer. 

Angrily  the  lad  repudiated  any  parleying. 
The  family  would  far  rather  starve  than  be  be- 
holden to  such  infamy  as  was  suggested.  He 
was  only  a  boy  now,  he  declared,  but  he  said 
fearlessly  that  if  no  one  else  killed  him,  he 
would  do  the  deed  himself  as  soon  as  he  was  big 
enough;  and  he  raced  on  with  his  dogs,  to 
reach  home  and  comfort  his  poor  mother.  Had 
he  but  known  it,  he  was  really  indebted  for  his 
life  to  the  supposed  wrath  of  his  father's  spirit 
and  the  restraining  effect  which  it  had  on 
Kalleligak. 

Eskimos  never  refer  to  painful  events  if  they 
can  help  it.  They  go  even  farther  than  certain 
modern  "scientists,"  for  if  a  person  who  dies 
happens  to  have  had  the  same  name  as  one 
still  living  in  the  vicinity,  the  latter  inconti- 
nently changes  his.  As  a  result,  confusion  not 
infrequently  arises,  for  a  man  whom  you  have 

141 


Labrador  Days 

known  all  his  life  as  "John"  is  "William"  the 
next  time  you  meet  him.  Thus  they  avoid  the 
mention  of  the  word  the  memory  of  which 
might  bring  pain  to  the  relatives.  Much  less 
would  they  bring  bad  news  to  a  white  man. 

They  took  good  care,  however,  that  the  local 
Innuits  should  know  that  Kaiachououk  was 
dead,  hoping  that  they  might  give  the  great 
white  man  at  the  post  the  sad  news  of  the  loss 
of  his  friend.  Barlow,  as  soon  as  he  was  certain 
of  the  main  facts,  at  once  dispatched  messen- 
gers to  summon  to  him  Kalleligak,  and  Ana- 
talik,  who  had  seen  the  deed.  The  murderer 
had  already  expressed  his  willingness  to  sur- 
render to  the  white  man,  and  he  at  once  packed 
up  and  accompanied  the  couriers  back  to 
Katatallik. 

Meanwhile  the  news  had  also  reached  Ek- 
koulak,  the  sister  of  Kaiachououk,  and  her 
husband,  Semijak,  immediately  summoned  his 
council  to  discuss  matters.  All  were  agreed  that 
the  tribal  custom  must  be  observed.  "A  life  for 
a  life"  was  the  only  law  they  recognized,  and 
the  two  elder  sons  of  Semijak  were  selected  to 

142 


Kaiachououk 

carry  the  sentence  into  effect.  Well  armed  and 
equipped,  they  started  the  very  next  morning 
for  the  North.  The  following  day  they  walked 
into  the  Hudson's  Bay  Post  to  apprize  the 
white  man  of  their  errand,  so  that  there  might 
be  no  suspicion  of  their  blood-guiltiness,  not 
knowing  that  by  a  strange  whim  of  fortune 
Kalleligak  and  Anatalik  were  already  there 
and  were  seated  in  one  room  while  they  were 
being  received  in  another. 

In  the  room  with  Kalleligak  and  Anatalik 
was  Mr.  Barlow's  daughter,  a  little  child  of 
six,  who  was  amusing  herself  with  a  picture 
book  of  the  life  of  Christ.  The  little  girl  began 
to  show  the  pictures  to  the  two  men,  telling 
them  the  story  in  then*  own  tongue  as  she  went 
along.  She  at  last  came  to  the  picture  of  Christ 
upon  the  Cross  between  the  two  thieves.  Mr. 
Barlow  in  the  adjoining  room  heard  Kalleligak 
ask  the  child  if  she  thought  Jesus  would  forgive 
any  one  who  had  killed  another  man,  to  which 
the  little  one  replied,  "Why,  yes,  if  he  were 
really  sorry  and  tried  to  be  better." 

The  house  of  friends  is  neutral  ground,  and 
143 


Labrador  Days 

to  start  a  quarrel  in  the  great  white  man's 
house  would  be  about  as  likely  as  that  we 
should  begin  one  on  the  steps  of  the  altar. 
Thus,  when  Kalleligak  and  Anatalik  were 
summoned  to  dinner,  both  parties  proceeded 
as  if  nothing  unusual  were  in  the  air  and  all 
refreshed  themselves  at  the  same  board. 

Bidding  them  to  keep  the  peace,  Mr.  Bar- 
low made  an  effort  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the 
affair;  but  he  found  it  very  hard  to  know  what 
to  advise.  The  sister  of  Kaiachououk  had 
begged  and  prayed  her  sons,  now  chosen  as 
avengers,  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  slay- 
ing, saying,  "  It  will  only  make  more  trouble. 
It  will  be  Kalleligak's  family  who  will  suffer. 
They  will  surely  starve  to  death."  She  had 
even  sent  a  special  messenger  to  the  agent  with 
an  earnest  plea  that  he  would  use  all  his  influ- 
ence to  save  her  lads  from  the  shedding  of 
blood. 

Having  decided  that  the  matter  should  be 
settled  in  open  court  and  to  abide  by  the  deci- 
sion of  the  great  white  man,  all  concerned  now 
adjourned  to  the  kitchen,  and  not  for  the  first 

144 


Kaiachououk 

time  that  humble  room  was  transformed  into  a 
court  of  justice.  Kalleligak  first  gave  his  ver- 
sion of  the  story  without  the  slightest  attempt 
to  conceal  anything.  He  said  he  had  lived  in 
constant  terror  of  what  Kaiachououk  might 
inflict  upon  him;  and  then,  turning  to  the  two 
men,  who  were  fully  armed  with  loaded  guns, 
he  said :  — 

"I  know  you  have  come  to  kill  me.  I  shall 
never  know  good  fortune  again,  anyhow.  I 
have  many  skins  and  gooxls.  With  those  I  will 
pay  for  Kaiachououk.  I  can  say  no  more." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  Semijak's  eldest  son 
burst  out  angrily:  — 

'  Yes,  we  have  come  to  kill  you.  Our  law  is 
a  life  for  a  life.  We  will  not  take  any  bribe." 

But  Oggak,  the  second  avenger,  thought 
differently:  — 

:<  We  will  hurt  those  who  are  not  guilty.  It 
would  be  different  if  he  had  no  family.  What 
offer  does  he  make?" 

"You  know  that  Kalleligak  is  the  second 
best  hunter  in  the  North,"  the  agent  spoke  up. 

"  And  your  mother,  the  wife  of  Semijak,  has 

145 


Labrador  Days 

also  sent  me  a  letter.  She  says  nothing  but  evil 
will  come  from  killing  the  head  of  another 
family.  Cannot  the  spirit  be  satisfied  in  some 
other  way?  " 

Mr.  Barlow  said  he  would  go  out  and  return 
when  they  had  talked  over  the  matter  among 
themselves.  He  always  felt  great  pity  for  these 
far-off  outcasts  of  humanity.  To  kill  another 
could  only  make  matters  worse.  It  was  quite 
probable  that  even  a  blood  feud  would  be 
started  and  more  valuable  lives  be  sacrificed. 
The  struggle  for  existence  was  hard  enough  in 
any  case,  and  if  he  suggested  their  taking  the 
law  into  their  own  hands,  there  was  no  telling 
where  it  would  end. 

So  it  turned  out  that  the  matter  was  settled 
by  simple  word  of  mouth.  That  was  absolutely 
sufficient  for  Kalleligak.  If  the  avengers  ap- 
pointed by  the  tribe  were  satisfied,  not  only 
would  the  spirit  of  the  murdered  chief  rest 
quietly,  but  the  guilty  one's  life  would  be 
safe. 

The  agreement,  duly  drawn  up  by  the  agent, 

read  as  follows:  — 

146 


Kaiachououk 

"  We  will  not  kill  you. 
You  are  to  pay  — 
Two  white  bears. 
Twelve  white  foxes. 
Three  live  dogs." 

That  was  the  value  set  on  a  really  great 
man's  life.  It  makes  one  wonder  at  what  rate 
ours  would  be  appraised  in  Eskimo  land. 


TWO  CHRISTMASES 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  Malcolm  McCrea, 
just  back  from  the  woods,  was  throwing  down 
some  frozen  seal  meat  from  the  scaffold  for  his 
hungry  dogs  after  their  long  day's  hauling. 
Malcolm  was  only  eighteen,  and  in  whiter  still 
lived  with  his  father  in  then*  home  below  the 
falls  of  Pike's  River.  However,  now  that  he 
had  been  away  for  two  summers  in  his  uncle's 
schooner  fishing  "down  North,"  his  eyes  were 
already  turned  to  some  long-untenanted  fjords 
in  the  mouths  of  which  the  craft  had  anchored. 
Pike's  Falls  was  a  lonely  place,  and  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice  calling  to  a  dog  team 
kept  Malcolm  standing  with  a  fine  forkful  of 
meat  in  his  hands  long  enough  so  greatly  to 
tantalize  the  team  below  as  to  start  a  serious 
fight.  This  woke  him  from  his  reverie.  "Ah, 
Ah!"  he  shouted,  and,  jumping  down  right  into 
the  middle  of  the  fracas,  soon  had  his  dogs 
busy  again  with  the  frozen  blocks  which  con- 
stituted their  food  for  the  day. 

148  ' 


Two  Christmases 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Norman?"  he  exclaimed 
heartily.  "  Why,  who  would  ever  have  thought 
of  seeing  you  here,  and  alone,  this  evening  of 
all  days  hi  t'  year?"  —  as  a  middle-aged  man 
jumped  from  an  empty  sledge  and  began  un- 
harnessing a  half-starved-looking  team.  "  Shall 
I  give  you  a  hand?  They  seem  spun  out." 

"Better  not  touch  'em,  I  reckon,"  was  the 
gruff  answer.  "They're  a  bit  surly  with  stran- 
gers." And  indeed  already  the  animals  were 
snarling  and  showing  their  teeth  at  the  other 
dogs  finishing  then*  meal  near  by. 

Malcolm,  who  at  once  proceeded  to  throw 
down  a  liberal  allowance  of  seal  meat  for  the 
newcomers'  suppers,  attributed  the  savage 
way  in  which  then*  master  whipped  off  his 
host's  team  from  trying  to  get  a  second  help- 
ing, to  the  weariness  of  a  long  journey.  For  to 
beat  another  man's  dogs,  especially  with  the 
long  and  heavy  lash  of  our  Northern  whips,  is 
a  breach  of  the  unwritten  law  of  the  Labrador. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  shared  the  steaming 
supper  prepared  for  Malcolm  that  the  strings  of 

the  visitor's  tongue  began  to  be  unloosed.  For 

149 


Labrador  Days 

it  is  not  etiquette  to  ask  a  stranger's  reasons 
for  visiting  a  well-stocked  house,  in  a  country 
where  the  komatik  trail  is  the  only  resource 
for  the  destitute. 

"  It's  to  t*  post  I'm  bound.  We  be  short  of 
grub  south.  T'  fishery  have  been  bad  this  three 
years,  and  there's  six  of  us  now,"  he  began. 
"There  was  n't  more  than  a  couple  of  bakings 
of  flour  in  t'  barrel  when  I  left.  I  could  n't  get 
no  credit  south  at  Deep-Water  Creek;  and  so  I 
just  had  to  try  north  or  starve." 

"  'T  is  a  long  bit  yet  to  t'  post,"  replied  Mal- 
colm. "There  is  t'  Monkey  to  cross  if  you  goes 
inside;  and  us  allows  it  a  good  hundred  miles  to 
go  round  t'  cape.  It  '11  take  you  a  week  to  haul 
a  barrel  of  flour  from  there  here." 

Roderick,  sitting  back  in  his  chair,  was  de- 
jectedly surveying  the  comfortable-looking 
room.  Malcolm  caught  his  gaze,  and  realized 
what  was  passing  in  the  poor  fellow's  mind. 

"Draw  up,  draw  up,  and  light  your  pipe, 
Mr.  Norman,"  he  interposed.  '  'T  is  only 
Home  Rule  tobacco,  but  it  serves  us  down 

here." 

150 


Two  Christmases 

Eagerly  enough  Norman  accepted  the  prof- 
fered plug,  and  then  relapsed  into  a  silence 
which  Malcolm  found  it  hard  to  break.  So,  ex- 
cusing himself  for  a  minute,  he  beckoned  the 
old  folk  to  come  into  their  bedroom  that  they 
might  talk  over  the  situation  in  private. 

"He  has  four  youngsters,  and  I  knows  they 
be  hard  up,"  he  began.  "They  has  n't  a  chance 
where  they  are.  T'  neighbours  blames  Roder- 
ick for  several  little  troubles  which  happened 
to  t'  southard,  and  t'  traders  won't  advance 
more  'n  he  can  pay  for.  If  it  was  any  one  else, 
and  to-morrow  was  n't  Christmas,  it  would  be 
just  good  fun  to  go  down  North  with  him  and 
help  haul  back  a  barrel  or  so  —  that  is,  if  they 
lets  him  have  it." 

"That 's  not  like  you,  Malcolm.  You  can't 
make  a  man  good  that  way,  any  more'n  you 
can  a  dog  by  beatin'  him,"  chimed  in  his  old 
mother.  "I  guess  you'll  go  along  with  him, 
even  to-morrow,  if  so  be  he  wishes  it." 

"S'pose  I  will,  Mother,  but  — " 

'"Course    you    would,"    said    his    father 

proudly.  "They've  never  known  a  McCrea 

151 


Labrador  Days 

yet  on  this  coast  that  would  let  even  a  dog 
starve.  But  there 's  a  barrel  of  flour  in  our  cellar 
which  we  can  live  without.  Maybe  it's  t'  kind 
of  Christmas  greeting  t'  poor  fellow  needs." 

"If  you  says  so,  it's  all  right,  Father,"  said 
Malcolm,  "and,  seeing  it's  a  good  hundred 
miles  to  Mr.  Norman's  house,  I  guess  I'll  go 
along,  anyhow,  in  t*  morning  and  let  my 
beauties  help  them  half-fed  pups  of  his,  or 
it'll  be  Old  Christmas  Day  before  his  kids  get 
a  bite  out  of  it." 

Only  the  joy  of  the  first  tobacco  for  weeks 
was  keeping  the  worn-out  man  from  being  fast 
asleep  when  Malcolm  again  took  a  chair  beside 
him. 

"I've  got  to  make  a  round  south  to-mor- 
row, Mr.  Norman,"  he  began,  "and  it  would 
be  a  pity  if  you  had  to  be  going  t*  other  way. 
Father  says  he  has  a  barrel  of  flour  in  t*  cellar 
you  can  have  and  pay  for  it  when  youse  can.  So 
if  that'll  suit,  I 'd  like  to  give  you  a  hand  some 
part  of  t*  way,  especially  as  there'll  be  a  few 
gallons  of  molasses  to  carry  also  if  you  '11  take 


'em." 


152 


Two  Christmases 

Gratitude  is  a  rare  grace.  The  lack  of  it  was 
one  of  the  costly  defects  in  Roderick's  charac- 
ter. No  longer  hungry,  sitting  before  a  good 
fire  with  a  well-filled  pipe,  even  the  cunning 
which  usually  supplies  the  vacancy  failed  him; 
and  Malcolm  had  to  force  himself  to  put  down 
to  exhaustion  the  ungracious  way  in  which  his 
real  sacrifice  was  accepted. 

In  spite  of  hard  work,  they  had  only  made 
thirty  miles  by  sunset  the  next  day,  and,  there 
being  no  shelter,  they  were  obliged  to  camp 
early  as  light  snow  was  falling.  Yet  it  was  a 
good  Christmas  night  around  the  blazing  fire 
with  the  special  cheer  the  old  mother  had 
packed  into  the  bread-boxes  on  their  koma- 
tik.  The  following  morning  they  did  better, 
reaching  the  landwash  of  a  big  inlet  forty  miles 
farther  south  by  noon.  Here  Malcolm  had  de- 
cided to  turn  back,  for  the  remainder  of  the 
trail  to  Long  Point  lay  practically  over  level 
ice.  Just  as  they  were  saying  good-bye,  how- 
ever, his  quick  eye  detected  something  black 
moving  out  on  the  bay. 

"A  fox,  Mr.  Norman.  Look!  A  fox!  And  a 
153 


Labrador  Days 

black  one  too.  You  may  be  able  to  pay  for  that 
barrel  of  flour  before  t'  day's  out." 

They  were  both  good  furriers,  and  their 
plans  were  soon  laid.  The  dogs  were  quickly 
hitched  up  to  stumps,  and,  glad  of  a  rest,  were 
easily  made  to  lie  down.  Alas,  the  men  had 
only  Malcolm's  gun;  but  it  was  arranged  that 
he  should  go  out  and  turn  the  fox,  and  Nor- 
man, hiding  at  the  third  corner  of  the  triangle, 
should  try  and  shoot  it  passing  or  lure  it  in 
range  down  wind. 

Things  went  admirably.  Malcolm  by  a  long 
detour  was  able  to  turn  the  fox  from  far  out 
without  frightening  it.  Roderick,  well  hidden, 
and  squeaking  like  a  mouse,  tolled  it  into  easy 
range;  and  within  an  hour  the  two  men  held  in 
their  hands  a  skin  worth  at  least  four  hundred 
dollars.  It  was  agreed,  at  Roderick's  sugges- 
tion, that  he  should  carry  it  home,  as  he  was 
nearer  the  fur-buyers,  take  the  first  offer  over 
that  sum,  and  then  send  the  half  due  by  the 
law  of  the  woods  to  Malcolm  north  by  the 
earliest  mail-carrier. 

Malcolm  added  as  he  said  good-bye,  "I 
154 


Two  Christmases 

reckon  maybe  Father  will  want  to  let  t'  barrel 
go  as  good  luck  on  t*  bargain." 

Summer  came,  and  open  water  with  it,  but 
the  half  value  of  that  skin  never  arrived. 
Later,  in  reply  to  Malcolm's  enquiry  by  let- 
ter, a  note  came  to  say  that  it  was  being  held 
for  a  better  price  in  the  fall;  and  with  that 
he  had  to  be  content. 

Winter  followed  summer,  and  when  once 
again  the  "going  was  good,"  Malcolm,  "run- 
ning light"  with  his  dogs,  made  the  journey  to 
Long  Point  easily  in  two  days.  Yes,  the  skin 
was  sold,  but  the  agent  had  not  yet  sent  the 
cash.  It  had  brought  $430  and  the  hah*  would 
come  along  as  soon  as  ever  Monsieur  Baillot 
forwarded  the  notes.  But  the  winter  again 
went  by  and  no  notes,  no  letters,  or  other  news 
ever  reached  Malcolm  McCrea.  Six  years 
passed,  and  still  they  never  came,  and  the 
McCreas  supposed  the  debt  was  time-barred. 
Indeed,  they  had  almost  forgotten  the  whole 
incident. 

Malcolm  was  still  nominally  at  his  father's 
house,  but  for  three  winters  he  had  trapped  on 

155 


Labrador  Days 

the  Grand  River,  which  flowed  out  into  one  of 
the  bays  he  had  discovered  "down  North." 
Here  with  the  help  of  a  hired  man  he  had  built 
up  quite  a  fine  little  house,  and  made  every 
preparation  for  that  momentous  life  experi- 
ence which  usually  comes  early  in  life  to  every 
Labrador  man.  With  characteristic  caution  he 
had  waited  for  a  good  winter  hunt  to  buy 
furnishings  and  traps.  This  had  also  given 
Nancy  Grahame,  who  lived  close  to  his  home, 
time  to  get  ready  the  needed  linen  and  other 
requisites.  "Clewing  up"  his  salmon  fishery  in 
good  time,  Malcolm  had  cruised  North  hi  his 
own  small  sailboat,  and  till  the  first  ice  made 
had  been  very  busy  cutting  wood,  hauling 
food  into  the  country  for  the  winter  tilts  along 
his  fur-path  on  the  Grand  River,  completing 
his  cellar,  and  safely  storing  his  winter  house 
supplies. 

His  first  hunt  being  mostly  for  foxes  along 
the  landwash  of  the  bay,  he  had  waited  until 
the  snow  came  to  tail  his  traps,  judging  that 
although  it  would  take  a  week  with  his  dogs  to 

fetch  his  wife  to  their  new  home,  he  might 

156 


Two  Christmases 

safely  chance  that  length  of  time  away  without 
losing  anything  which  might  be  snared  in  the 
meanwhile.  This  was  the  third  winter  he  had 
furred  this  path  without  interruption,  and  by 
all  the  custom  of  the  coast  no  one  would  now 
interfere  with  his  claim.  So  Malcolm  started 
south  at  a  stretch  gallop  with  a  light  heart. 

The  two  hundred  and  odd  miles  to  the  ren- 
dezvous at  his  father-in-law's  winter  home  in 
the  woods  were  covered  with  only  two  nights 
out,  and  that  when  the  trails  were  as  yet 
hardly  broken  and  the  young  ice  on  the  rivers 
would  surely  have  delayed  any  man  with  less 
determination. 

The  wedding  was  in  real  Labrador  style. 
Every  one  from  far  and  near  was  present, 
quite  without  the  formality  of  an  invitation. 
It  would,  indeed,  be  an  ill  omen  for  the  future 
if  any  one  were  omitted  through  the  miscar- 
riage of  an  invitation.  So  the  danger  is  averted 
by  the  grapevine  telegraph,  which  simply  sig- 
nals the  event  in  sufficient  time  to  make  it  a 
man's  own  fault  if  he  is  not  present.  Malcolm 
had  many  friends  and  there  had  been  great 

157 


Labrador  Days 

preparations  in  Capelin  Bay.  Every  scrap  of 
room  was  needed  to  accommodate  the  guests, 
and  at  night  hardly  an  inch  of  floor  space  but 
lodged  some  sleeping  form  wrapped  in  a  four- 
point  blanket,  while  the  hardier  ones  with 
sleeping-bags  contentedly  crawled  into  them 
out  in  the  snow,  as  their  fashion  is  when  noth- 
ing better  offers. 

The  cooking  had  to  be  done  in  two  large  net- 
barking  cauldrons  over  open  fires  under  the 
trees;  and  as  the  fall  deer  hunt  had  been  suc- 
cessful, and  pork  had  not  in  those  days  as- 
sumed the  present  impossible  prices,  there  were 
all  kinds  of  joints,  and  no  limit  to  proteids 
and  carbohydrates.  The  great  plum  puddings 
which  served  for  wedding  cakes  were  pulled 
out  of  the  same  boiling  froth,  tightly  wrapped 
in  their  cloth  jackets,  with  long  fish  "pews" 
or  forks.  Unlimited  spruce  beer,  brewed  with 
molasses  and  fortified  with  "Old  Jamaica," 
flowed  from  a  large  barrel  during  the  two  days 
that  the  celebration  lasted. 

At  twenty  below  zero  a  slight  increase  in  the 
calories  consumed  or  even  in  the  excess  of  al- 

158 


Two  Christmases 

cohol  over  the  normal  two  per  cent  of  spruce 
beer  leaves  little  trace  on  hardy  folk;  and  when 
on  the  third  morning,  McCrea  and  his  bride 
fared  forth  behind  their  splendid  dog-team, 
every  guest  was  gathered  at  the  starting-point 
to  "whoop  up"  the  departing  couple. 

"  'T  is  early  I  '11  be  starting  in  t'  morning, 
Nancy,  for  it's  nigh  a  fortnight  since  I  tailed 
my  traps,  and  there  were  good  signs,  too,  by  t' 
boiling  brooks,"  said  Malcolm  the  first  evening 
they  arrived  home.  "A  fox  following  t'  land- 
wash  from  t'  rattle  must  surely  take  t'  path 
there,  for  t'  cliff  fair  shoulders  him  off  t'  land, 
and  t'  ice  is  n't  fast  more  'n  a  foot  or  so  from 
t'  bluff.  'T  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  a  good  skin, 
and  us  just  starting  in  housekeeping." 

"What's  right's  right,  Malcolm,"  an- 
swered his  wife,  pouting  just  perceptibly.  "Us 
must  end  our  honeymoon  with  the  journey 
down.  I'll  not  be  lonely,  I  reckon,  getting  t' 
house  to  rights."  And  she  laughed  gayly  as  she 
noticed  the  results  of  Malcolm's  sincere  but 
unique  attempts  at  furnishing. 

"It'll  be  a  ration  of  pork  I'll  be  needing 
159 


Labrador  Days 

boiled,  and  a  bun  or  two  for  my  nonny-bag.  I 
can  cover  t'  path  in  two  days  so  be  t'  going's 
good;  but  there's  nothing  like  being  pre- 
pared." 

"  Get  a  few  more  splits,  then,  boy,"  she  re- 
plied, "and  I'll  be  cutting  t'  pork  t'  while." 
For  she  knew  that  Malcolm's  estimate  of  the 
supply  necessary  for  a  possible  delay  was  not 
the  preparedness  which  would  satisfy  her 
ideas. 

Days  are  short  in  November  in  the  North, 
and  the  moon  was  still  up  to  see  Malcolm  pick- 
ing his  way  along  the  unmade  trail  which  led 
to  the  spot  where  the  sea  ice  joined  the  "balli- 
caters  "  or  heaped-up  shore  ice.  In  the  late  fall 
this  is  the  happy  hunting-ground  of  foxes,  for  a 
much-needed  dinner  is  often  to  be  picked  up  in 
the  shape  of  some  enfeebled  auk  or  other  sea- 
bird,  while  even  a  dead  shark  or  smaller  fish 
may  be  discovered. 

This  was  only  a  brief  fall  hunt.  Malcolm  had 
some  fifty  traps  over  ten  miles  of  country,  all 
of  which  he  would  take  up  the  following  month 
when  the  sea  ice  froze  on  permanently  to  the 

160 


Two  Christmases 

shore,  re-tailing  them  along  his  real  fur-path 
up  the  Grand  River  along  the  bank  of  which 
he  had  no  less  than  three  small  shacks  some 
thirty  miles  apart.  Here  he  made  his  long  win- 
ter hunt  for  sables,  otters,  and  lynxes,  using 
nearly  three  hundred  traps. 

It  was  with  keen  expectation  and  brisk  step 
that  he  now  strode  along  over  the  open;  only 
the  unwritten  law  of  silence  for  a  trapper  on 
his  path  prevented  his  whistling  as  he  went. 
When  passing  through  the  long  belt  of  woods 
which  marks  the  edge  of  the  river  delta,  he 
found  numerous  windfalls  blocking  his  narrow 
trail;  but,  keyed  up  as  he  was,  he  managed  to 
get  by  them  without  so  much  as  rustling  a 
twig.  "I'm  fending  for  two  now,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and  the  very  thought  was  sweet,  lend- 
ing zest  to  the  matching  of  his  capacities 
against  those  of  the  wild. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  first  two  traps.  He 
had  n't  expected  anything.  They  were  only  a 
sort  of  outliers  in  case  something  went  wrong 
with  those  in  the  sure  places.  But  now  he  was 
nearing  the  Narrows,  and  already  his  fence 

161 


Labrador  Days 

running  from  the  steep  bluff  to  the  river  edge 
was  visible.  But  there  was  no  fox  in  number 
three.  The  trap  had  not  been  sprung.  The  bait 
was  as  he  had  left  it.  "Maybe  there'll  be  more 
to  t*  eastward,"  he  thought,  "though  there 
were  signs  on  this  side  of  t'  river."  And,  re- 
setting the  trap,  he  plodded  along  farther  on 
his  round. 

Midday  came.  He  had  passed  no  less  than 
fifteen  of  his  best  traps,  and  not  only  had  no 
fox  been  found,  but  not  one  trap  was  sprung 
or  one  bait  taken. 

Malcolm  stood  meditatively  scratching  his 
head  by  trap  twenty.  "Something  's  wrong," 
he  said  to  himself,  —  "but  what?  Better  boil  t* 
kettle  and  think  it  over.  Perhaps  better  luck 
after  lunch." 

Unstringing  his  tomahawk,  he  started  to 
find  some  dry  wood  with  which  to  kindle  a  fire. 
None  being  close  to  the  beach,  he  walked  a  few 
yards  into  the  forest,  and  had  just  commenced 
on  a  tree  when  he  noticed  by  the  white  scar 
that  a  branch  had  been  broken  quite  recently 

from   the  very  same  trunk.  "Wind  and  t* 

162 


Two  Christmases 

weight  of  t'  silver  thaw,"  he  supposed,  for 
there  was  no  one  living  within  fifty  miles,  and 
no  other  fur-path  at  that  time,  anyhow,  in 
the  bay.  The  northern  komatik  trail  crossed 
twenty  miles  seaward,  where  the  calm,  wide 
expanse  made  the  ice  much  safer  in  the  early 
winter  than  near  the  swift  current  at  the  river 
mouth.  But  as  he  stooped  to  clear  the  trunk 
for  his  own  axe,  he  noticed  that,  though  dis- 
guised as  a  break,  a  cut  had  been  first  made 
to  weaken  the  bough.  "Some  one's  been  here, 
that's  sure,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Who  can  it 
be?"  So  much  snow  had  fallen  since  Malcolm 
had  gone  after  his  wife  that  it  was  no  easy 
matter  to  guess  an  answer  —  much  less  to  read 
it  from  the  trails  around. 

His  frugal  meal  finished,  he  sat  meditatively 
smoking  his  pipe  by  the  glowing  embers  of  his 
generous  fire.  But  no  light  came  to  him.  Prac- 
tically no  one  lived  near.  The  few  who  did 
were  as  honest  as  daylight.  He  had  not  an 
enemy  on  earth  so  far  as  he  knew;  and  yet  he 
realized  now  that  the  good  condition  of  his 

traps,  and  especially  his  baits,  after  a  fortnight 

163 


Labrador  Days 

of  the  blusterous  Labrador  fall  weather  needed 
accounting  for.  Well,  anyhow,  there  was  only 
one  thing  to  do  —  go  and  finish  his  round,  and 
when  he  got  back  he  could  talk  the  trouble  over 
with  his  wife. 

Slipping  on  his  snow  racquets  and  once 
more  shouldering  his  nonny-bag,  he  strode  off 
toward  his  next  trap.  It  was  new  to  him  to 
suspect  men.  It  was  his  business  as  a  trapper 
to  suspect  Nature.  It  was,  however,  from  this 
new  viewpoint  that  he  must  approach  his  next 
task.  For  therein  lies  the  intense  interest  of  the 
trapper's  life — every  moment  affords  a  keen 
problem.  The  gambler  has  the  excitement  of  a 
possible  big  return,  a  sudden  acquisition  of 
gain.  The  trapper  has  all  that,  and  the  added 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  it  is  his  ability 
and  not  merely  his  luck  which  has  won  out. 

At  first  sight  there  seemed  nothing  amiss 
with  trap  twenty-one.  It  had  been  tailed  on  the 
top  of  a  specially  felled  tree.  There  it  was  still 
—  a  little  mound  of  snow  above  the  great  ex- 
panse of  whiteness,  only  recognizable  because 
a  trapper  knows  every  inch  of  his  path  as  a 

164 


Two  Christmases 

priest  does  his  breviary.  True,  as  the  surface 
snow  was  only  two  days  old,  many  marks 
could  not  be  expected  upon  it.  All  the  same,  it 
struck  Malcolm  as  odd  that  not  a  single  fox- 
footing  had  he  sighted  since  leaving  home. 
"Something  must  have  been  cleaning  'em 
up,"  he  reasoned.  "There  were  two  broods  on 
Whale  Island  and  one  at  least  on  t'  Isle  of 
Hope.  That 's  some  twenty  all  told  —  and 
ne'er  a  wolf  or  lynx  track  out  to  t*  landward  t' 
year."  Musing  to  himself,  he  knelt  down  by 
the  trap  to  examine  it  more  closely.  Lifting  it 
up,  he  blew  off  the  loose  snow  and  inspected 
the  stump  carefully.  No,  nothing  to  indicate 
that  it  had  been  moved.  If  it  had  been,  it  must 
have  been  replaced  with  consummate  care; 
for  the  rain  had  fallen  once  since  Malcolm  had 
tailed  it,  and  the  trap  lay  exactly  in  the  icy 
trough,  its  handle  and  chain  lying  in  the  same 
groove.  But  the  very  fact  suggested  an  idea. 
Possibly,  if  he  cleared  the  snow  there  might  be 
a  frozen  footmark  in  the  hard  surface  beneath. 
Carefully,  handful  by  handful,  he  removed 
over  a  foot  of  snow  from  around  the  bottom  of 

165 


Labrador  Days 

the  old  tree,  till  he  felt  with  his  fingers  the 
frozen  crust.  It  took  him  over  an  hour's  cold, 
tedious  work,  for  he  feared  to  use  a  mitten  to 
protect  his  hand  lest  he  should  destroy  the 
very  traces  of  which  he  was  in  search.  Though 
it  froze  his  fingers  and  meant  a  long  delay,  it 
was  well  worth  while,  for  he  had  undeniable 
evidence  of  a  man's  footmark,  without  any 
racquet,  made  since  the  rain  previous  to  the 
last  snowfall.  It  was  probably  at  least  a  week 
old. 

Again  he  examined  the  trap  carefully.  Not  a 
hair,  not  a  blood  mark,  not  a  sign  to  show  that 
any  fox  had  been  in  it.  If  it  had  been  robbed, 
an  expert  had  done  it.  There  was  another 
chance,  however.  Using  his  racquet  as  a  spade, 
Malcolm  was  soon  at  work  clearing  the  snow 
away  right  around  the  roots.  The  chain  was  a 
long  one,  and  driven  into  one  of  the  leaders  was 
a  steel  fastener.  It  was  as  he  expected.  Not 
only  had  the  chain  been  obviously  gnawed, 
but  there  was  considerable  chafing  of  the  bark 
as  well.  "He's  been  in  it,  sure  enough,  but  the 

question  is,  Who's  got  t'  skin?"  Dark  was 

166 


Two  Christmases 

coming  on.  There  was  no  use  going  back;  so, 
cutting  down  a  few  boughs  and  making  a  small 
lean-to  under  a  big  spruce,  Malcolm  kindled  a 
blazing  fire,  "cooked  the  kettle,"  and  turned 
in  for  the  night. 

Nancy  had  seen  her  husband  as  soon  as  he 
crossed  the  shoulder  of  the  hill  on  his  home- 
coming the  third  morning.  To  tell  the  truth,  it 
was  her  first  experience  of  being  quite  alone  in 
the  forest,  and  she  had  been  doing  but  little 
"furnishing"  after  the  first  night.  Now  she 
was  sure  he  had  made  a  fine  haul,  and  hurried 
out  to  meet  him  and  hear  the  news.  Malcolm, 
with  the  canniness  of  his  kind,  at  once  told  her 
he  had  had  no  luck. 

Now  the  actual  amount  of  money  lost  may 
not  have  been  great,  but  it  had  the  irritating 
feature  of  being  an  unknown  quantity  and  the 
additional  vague  risk  of  making  all  his  winter 
work  fruitless.  It  is  useless  to  set  traps  if  some 
one  else  is  to  follow  around  and  rob  them.  So 
that  night  he  told  his  wife  the  whole  story. 
Discuss  it  as  they  would,  there  was  no  clue  of 
any  kind  to  follow;  so  like  wise  folk  they  de- 

167 


Labrador  Days 

cided  to  go  on  their  way  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  keeping  their  mouths  shut  and  their 
eyes  and  ears  open. 

No  one  visited  their  bay  before  Malcolm 
went  on  his  first  long  fur  round,  which  he  did 
earlier  than  was  his  wont  in  order  to  be  back 
in  time  for  the  first  of  the  two  winter  mails. 
This  trip  he  made  a  much  better  hunt,  setting 
his  traps  as  he  went  into  the  country.  He  took 
good  care  to  make  long  marches,  and  even  one 
day  to  double  back  on  his  tracks,  making  a 
long  detour  to  see  if  he  might  not  possibly  pick 
up  some  unexpected  signs  of  another  man  on 
his  path.  His,  because,  although  there  is  no 
law  on  the  subject,  custom  is  law  on  Labrador, 
and  the  man  who  first  finds  a  new  trail  for 
trapping  has  a  conceded  right  of  at  least  a  mile 
in  width  for  just  as  far  as  he  cares  to  go. 

The  whole  round  was  made  in  ten  days,  and, 
coming  back  with  six  sables,  two  otter,  and  a 
few  mink  and  ermine,  he  was  fortunate  enough 
to  reach  home  some  hours  before  the  southern 
mail  team. 

"What's  t'  news,  Pat?"  he  asked,  when  at ' 
168 


Two  Christmases 

last  supper  was  over,  and  the  final  pipe  was 
being  discussed  by  the  fire. 

"Nothing  to  boast  of,"  was  the  answer.  "T" 
same  old  story,  with  some  a  feast  and  with 
some  a  famine.  They  do  say  Roderick  Norman's 
luck  seems  to  have  turned  at  last.  T'  Company 
gave  he  over  four  hundred  dollars  for  a  dark 
silver  he  got,  and  as  much  more,  some  say,  for 
a  batch  o'  reds  and  patches.  'T  is  more  than 
good  luck  that  half-breed  must  have  had,  for 
he  has  n't  had  a  dozen  traps  to  his  name  this 
five  years." 

Before  he  had  finished  speaking,  Malcolm 
was  watching  him  narrowly,  wondering  if  some 
sprite  had  whispered  abroad  the  robbing  of  his 
traps.  But  Pat  was  evidently  unconscious  of 
any  possible  connection  between  his  news  and 
his  audience.  As  absolute  silence  was  the  only 
possible  road  ever  to  learning  the  truth,  Pat 
left  the  next  day  on  his  journey  north,  not  a 
whit  the  wiser  for  his  night  at  the  new  home- 
stead. 

"It  do  sound  strange,  Nancy,  don't  it?" 

said  her  husband,  after  their  guest  had  gone. 

169 


Labrador  Days 

"Roderick  Norman  can't  have  any  grudge 
against  me.  Why,  sure,  it  should  be  all  t'  other 
way."  And  he  got  up,  stretched  his  splendid 
muscular  limbs,  and,  picking  up  his  axe,  took 
out  any  excess  of  feeling  there  might  be  in  his 
heart  by  a  good  two  hours'  work  at  the  wood- 
pile. 

Meanwhile  his  mind  had  not  been  idle. 
Whoever  it  was  that  robbed  his  traps  could  not 
have  come  along  the  usual  trail.  The  ice  out- 
side had  not  been  safe  for  travelling.  He  cer- 
tainly must  have  come  out  from  the  country. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  Malcolm  to  spend 
time  exploring  the  land  which  lay  south  of  his 
fur-path.  But  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
must  at  all  costs  set  out  the  following  morning 
and  verify  his  suspicions  if  he  were  to  retain 
his  hope  of  a  livelihood  in  that  locality. 

"I'm  minded  to  try  it  right  away,  Nancy," 
said  Malcolm.  "If  I  could  only  get  a  good  view 
from  one  of  t'  hilltops,  I  'd  have  no  trouble,  for 
there  is  still  plenty  of  food  in  my  tilts." 

"But,  Malcolm,  'tis  only  two  days  till 
Christmas  and  this  is  our  first  together.  Surely 

170 


Two  Christmases 

no  one  ever  goes  on  the  fur-path  Christmas- 
time." 

"That's  just  it,  lass.  No  one  is  on  t'  path  as 
ought  to  be,  and  I  reckon  for  that  very  reason 
there  be  more  chance  of  seeing  those  as  ought 
not." 

There  was  no  escaping  the  logic  of  the 
Scotchman,  and  his  wife  acquiesced  without 
further  argument.  He  was  well  into  the  coun- 
try before  daylight  next  day. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning,  as  away  there  in 
utter  solitude  the  evergreen  trees,  the  red- 
faced  cliffs,  the  startling  whiteness  of  the  snow, 
and  exquisite  blue  overhead  fading  into  the 
purple  distance  of  the  winding  valley  met  his 
keen  view  from  a  mountain-top.  It  was  Lab- 
rador at  its  best  —  clear,  dry,  cold,  and  not  a 
sound  to  break  the  absolute  silence,  even  the 
trickling  of  the  rapids  and  the  splashing  of  dis- 
tant falls  being  muffled  by  their  heavy  cloaks 
of  ice. 

Suddenly  Malcolm's  face  grew  rigid  and  his 
eyes  unconsciously  fixed  themselves  on  a  mov- 
ing object  —  a  tiny  whiff  of  blue  smoke  was 

171 


Labrador  Days 

curling  up  from  the  woods  on  the  other  side  of 
the  valley.  Gentle  though  he  was,  his  big  mus- 
cles set  and  his  jaw  tightened  as  the  idea  of 
revenge  flashed  across  his  mind. 

A  man  does  not  learn  to  outwit  successfully 
the  keen  senses  of  the  denizens  of  the  woods 
without  finding  it  easy  to  solve  a  problem  such 
as  the  one  which  Malcolm  now  faced.  For  all 
that,  he  decided  not  to  approach  too  close  till 
dark  what  he  was  now  sure  was  a  hut,  for  the 
way  the  smoke  rose  was  quite  unlike  that  from 
an  open  fire.  Having,  therefore,  plenty  of  time, 
he  made  a  long  and  cautious  detour  till  he  had 
at  last  completely  encircled  the  spot.  There 
were  the  marks  of  one  pair  of  snow  racquets 
only  on  the  snow.  The  trail  was  possibly  three 
days  old.  No  snow  had  fallen  for  several  days. 
"Reckon  he  is  taking  a  good  spell  with  that 
catch  of  his." 

This  much  he  knew.  He  knew  the  stranger 
was  in  or  close  to  the  tilt.  He  was  not  trap- 
ping, though  he  had  been  inside  the  circle  for 
several  days,  and  he  had  no  dogs. 

As  it  fell  dark,  Malcolm  fully  expected  to  see 
172 


Two  Christmases 

a  light  in  the  hut,  but  not  a  twinkle  showed 
through  the  single-pane  window  light,  which 
he  had  located  from  his  hiding-place. 

Now  he  was  crawling  nearer.  There  was  no 
chance  of  his  being  seen,  as  the  moon  had  not 
yet  risen  and  it  was  very  dark  among  the 
trees.  A  light  wind  had  risen,  rustling  the  firs 
and  spruces  above  his  head.  The  fire  worried 
him.  Why  had  it  almost  died  out?  Heaven 
knows  it  was  cold  enough  to  need  one,  for  with 
all  his  warm  blood  Malcolm  himself  was  shiv- 
ering. What  could  it  mean? 

Suddenly  he  heard  some  one  move  inside. 
Then  came  the  noise  of  sticks  hitting  a  tin 
camp-stove  and  a  sudden  blaze  flared  up, 
burnt  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  apparently 
went  out  again.  Whoever  it  was  must  be  ill,  or 
hurt.  He  had  no  big  billets  or  he  would  n't  be 
firing  with  twigs. 

It  could  not  do  any  harm  now  to  enter,  and 
Malcolm  strode  noisily  to  the  door  and  peered 
inside. 

A  man's  weak  voice  greeted  him.  "Who's 
there?  For  God's  sake,  come  in." 

173 


Labrador  Days 

"My  name's  Malcolm  McCrea.  Where's 
your  light?  " 

"Haven't  got  one.  I've  no  candle  either," 
came  the  answer.  "Had  an  accident  three  days 
ago  with  my  gun,  and  nearly  blew  my  foot  off. 
My  leg's  swelled  up  something  wonderful." 

The  voice,  feeble  almost  to  a  whisper,  con- 
veyed no  information  as  to  the  man's  identity, 
except  that  the  Scotchman's  quick  ear  de- 
tected that  there  was  resentment  somehow 
mixed  with  satisfaction  that  a  rescuer  had  come. 

"I've  a  drop  of  kerosene  in  my  nonny-bag," 
was  all  Malcolm  said,  "but  it's  scarce,  and  I 
'low  I  '11  cut  up  some  wood  and  get  t'  fire  going 
before  lighting  up.  You  lie  quiet  for  a  minute 
or  two  and  I'll  get  you  a  drop  of  tea." 

"Lie  quiet!"  snarled  the  other.  "I've  lain 
quiet  for  three  days,  and  expected  to  stay  till 
doomsday.  It's  no  virtue  keeps  me  lying  quiet. 
I  had  no  business  to  be  here,  anyhow,  seeing 
there  was  no  need  of  it." 

"Well,  do  as  you  please,"  answered  Mc- 
Crea. And  without  much  delay  he  soon  had  a 

roaring  fire  in  the  camp-stove  which  turned 

174 


Two  Christmases 

the  chimney  red-hot  and  made  it  possible  to 
see  dimly  stretched  out  on  a  bed  of  fir  boughs 
the  long,  thin  form  of  a  man  whose  drawn, 
unshaven  face  showed  that  he  was  suffering 
much  pain.  His  right  foot  was  swaddled  in  an 
ominously  stained  bundle  of  rags  —  evidently 
some  torn-up  garment. 

Methodically  lighting  the  bit  of  wick  which 
he  had  placed  in  the  kerosene  bottle,  Malcolm 
knelt  down  by  the  side  of  the  injured  man  and, 
peering  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the  gloomy 
corner,  found  himself  looking  right  into  the 
eyes  of  Roderick  Norman. 

Having  made  some  hot  tea  and  shared  it 
with  the  sick  man,  he  offered  him  part  of  the 
pork  and  hard  biscuit,  all  that  he  had  with 
him  for  his  own  supper.  But  Roderick  was  too 
feeble  to  touch  more  than  a  bit  of  it  soaked 
in  hot  tea,  and  that  seemed  a  small  strength- 
giver  for  such  a  time  of  need. 

"If  you'd  a  bit  o'  wire  or  line,  I'd  tail  a 
snare  for  a  rabbit  when  the  moon  rises  and  try 
if  we  could  n't  get  a  drop  o'  hot  stew  to  help 

out.  But  I  have  n't  a  bit  in  my  bag." 

175 


Labrador  Days 

"There's  a  couple  o'  traps,"  growled  the 
sick  man,  and  then  stopped  suddenly,  shut- 
ting his  jaws  with  a  snap. 

Malcolm  looked  around,  but  was  unable  to 
see  any  signs  of  them.  "Where  did  you  say 
they  were?  "  he  enquired;  but  no  response  came 
from  the  bunk. 

McCrea  finished  his  supper,  lit  his  pipe,  and 
suggested  trying  to  wash  the  wounded  foot. 
But  fearing  to  start  the  bleeding  again,  they 
decided  to  leave  it  till  morning. 

"Where  are  those  traps  you  spoke  of,  sir? 
The  moon  is  beginning  to  show  and  I'll  be 
needing  to  get  'em  put  out,  if  we're  to  have 
any  chance."  But  still  the  other  man  made  no 
answer.  Malcolm  went  up  close  to  the  bed  and 
knelt  down  by  him  again.  "Mr.  Norman,"  he 
said,  "we're  in  a  bad  hole  here.  We're  fifty 
miles  from  help,  anyhow.  We've  no  dogs  and 
only  one  of  us  can  walk.  Moreover,  there 's  al- 
most no  food.  If  you  've  got  any  traps,  why  not 
tell  me  where  they  are.  I  'm  not  going  to  steal 
'em." 

Roderick   Norman   opened   his   eyes   and 
176 


Two  Christmases 

looked  at  him.  The  dim  rays  of  the  little  wick 
in  the  kerosene  bottle  gave  scarcely  enough 
light  to  show  the  ordinary  eye  where  the  lamp 
itself  was.  But  when  their  glances  met,  it  was 
enough  to  show  Roderick  that  it  was  no  longer 
a  child  with  whom  he  was  dealing.  For  a  sec- 
ond neither  spoke,  then  Malcolm,  putting  his 
hand  on  the  man's  shoulder,  gripped  it  per- 
haps more  roughly  than  he  intended.  "The 
traps,"  he  repeated. 

Roderick  winced.  He  saw  that  his  secret  was 
out.  He  was  at  the  Scotchman's  mercy,  and  he 
knew  it.  "They're  stowed  in  t'  hollow  of  t'  old 
trunk,  fifty  yards  back  of  t'  tilt,  damn  you," 
he  snarled,  and  tried  to  roll  over,  groaning  bit- 
terly with  pain  of  both  body  and  soul. 

The  pity  of  it  appealed  straight  to  Malcolm's 
generous  heart,  and  his  grip  relaxed  instantly. 
He  strove  to  make  the  other  more  comfortable, 
moving  him  gently  in  his  great  arms. 

"Forget  it,  Mr.  Norman,"  he  said.  "No  one 
shall  ever  know  unless  you  tell  'em.  I'll  give 
you  my  word  for  that." 

The  sick  man  said  nothing.  His  deep  breath- 
177 


Labrador  Days 

ing,  painfully  drawn,  was,  however,  enough  in 
that  dead  silence  to  warn  Malcolm  of  the 
struggle  going  on  so  close  to  him  —  a  struggle 
so  much  more  momentous  than  one  of  tooth 
and  claw.  He  slipped  his  hand  into  that  of  the 
other  and  held  it  gently. 

"You're  very  hot,  sir,"  he  remarked,  just 
for  something  to  say.  "Shall  I  get  you  some 
cold  water?" 

But  still  there  was  no  answer.  Evidently  the 
man's  mind  was  engrossed  with  other  thoughts. 
A  long  pause  followed. 

"Mr.  Norman,  for  God's  sake,  forget  it.  No 
one's  been  hurt  but  yourself.  If  there's  been 
any  wrong,  it 's  all  forgiven  and  forgotten  long 
ago.  Let's  just  begin  again.  Remember  'tis 
Christmas  Eve  night." 

Still  there  was  no  reply,  but  McCrea's  in- 
tuition saved  him  from  the  mistake  of  saying 
more.  The  stillness  became  uncanny.  Then  an 
almost  imperceptible  pressure  of  the  sick 
man's  hand  sent  a  thrill  vibrating  through  the 
Scotchman's  soul.  Yes,  and  he  had  himself  re- 
turned the  pressure  before  he  knew  it.  A  shiver 

178 


Two  Christmases 

passed  over  the  sick  man's  frame  and  the  si- 
lence was  broken  by  a  sob. 

With  an  innate  sense  of  fellow-feeling,  Mal- 
colm laid  down  the  other's  hand,  rose,  and 
went  out  without  a  word.  The  night  was  per- 
fect with  the  glorious  light  of  the  waning  moon. 
His  mind  was  at  once  made  up.  He  would  be 
home  by  daylight  and  back  again  with  his  dogs 
by  midday,  with  stimulants  and  blankets,  and 
could  have  Roderick  in  Nancy's  skilled  hands 
before  night. 

Noiselessly  opening  the  door,  he  filled  the 
stove  once  more,  piled  up  spare  billets  close  to 
the  bedside,  laid  out  what  food  was  left,  placed 
his  kettle  full  of  water  on  the  ground  within 
reach  of  the  sick  man,  and,  just  whispering, "  I  '11 
be  back  soon,  sir,"  disappeared  into  the  night. 

How  fast  he  sped  only  the  stars  and  moon 
shall  say.  But  joy  lent  him  wings  which 
brought  him  home  before  daylight.  His  faith- 
ful dogs,  keeping  their  watch  and  ward  out  in 
the  snow  around  his  house,  first  brought  the 
news  to  Nancy  that  her  man  was  back  so  soon. 

A  few  minutes  served  to  explain  how  mat- 
179 


Labrador  Days 

ters  stood,  and  in  a  few  more  everything  was 
ready.  The  coach-box  was  strapped  on  the 
komatik.  The  bearskin  rug  and  a  feather  bed 
were  lashed  inside  it,  with  all  the  restoratives 
loving  care  could  think  of,  and  with  the  music 
of  the  wild  barking  of  the  dogs  echoing  from 
the  mountain  and  valley,  the  sledge  went 
whirling  back  over  the  crisp  snow  —  the  team 
no  less  excited  than  Malcolm  himself  at  this 
unexpected  call  for  their  services. 

Everything  was  silent  as  once  more  they  ap- 
proached the  scene  of  trouble.  The  dogs,  pant- 
ing and  tired,  having  had  no  spell  since  they 
started,  no  longer  broke  the  stillness  with 
their  barking.  Malcolm  hitched  them  up  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  from  the  tilt,  preferring  to 
approach  it  on  foot.  He  had  long  ago  noticed 
that  no  smoke  was  coming  from  the  funnel  and 
it  made  his  heart  sink,  for  even  in  the  woods 
the  cold  was  intense. 

Malcolm  always  says  that  he  knew  the 
meaning  of  it  before  he  opened  the  door. 
Roderick  Norman  had  gone  to  spend  his  first 
Christmas  hi  happier  hunting-grounds. 


THE  LEADING  LIGHT 

IT  was  getting  late  in  the  year.  The  steep  cliffs 
that  everywhere  flank  the  sides  of  the  great 
bay  were  already  hoary  with  snow.  The  big 
ponds  were  all  "fast,"  and  the  fall  deer  hunt 
which  follows  the  fishery  was  over.  Most  of 
the  boats  were  hauled  up,  well  out  of  reach  of 
the  "ballicater  "  ice.  The  stage  fronts  had  been 
taken  down  till  the  next  spring,  to  save  them 
from  being  torn  to  pieces  by  the  rising  and 
falling  floe.  Everywhere  "young  slob,"  as  we 
call  the  endless  round  pans  growing  from  the 
centre  and  covering  the  sea  like  the  scales  of 
a  salmon,  was  making.  But  the  people  at  the 
head  of  the  bay  were  still  waiting  for  those 
necessities  of  life,  such  as  flour,  molasses,  and 
pork,  which  have  to  be  imported  as  they  are 
unable  to  provide  them  for  themselves,  and 
for  which  they  must  wait  till  the  summer's 
voyage  has  been  sent  to  market  and  sold  to 
pay  for  them. 

181 


Labrador  Days 

The  responsibility  of  getting  these  supplies 
to  them  rested  heavily  on  the  shoulders  of  my 
good  friend  John  Bourne,  the  only  trader  in 
the  district.  Women,  children,  whole  families, 
were  looking  to  him  for  those  "things"  which 
if  he  failed  to  furnish  would  mean  such  woeful 
consequences  that  he  could  not  face  the  winter 
without  at  least  a  serious  attempt  to  provide 
them. 

In  the  harbour  lay  his  schooner,  a  saucy  little 
craft  which  he  had  purchased  only  a  short 
while  before.  He  knew  her  sea  qualities;  and  as 
the  ship  tugged  at  her  chains,  moving  to  and 
fro  on  the  swell,  she  kept  a  fine  "swatch"  of 
open  water  round  her.  Like  some  tethered  an- 
imal, she  seemed  to  be  begging  him  to  give  her 
another  run  before  Jack  Frost  gripped  her  in 
his  chilly  arms  for  months  to  come.  The  fact 
that  he  was  a  married  man  with  hostages  to 
fortune  round  his  knees  might  have  justified 
his  conscience  in  not  tempting  the  open  sea  at 
a  time  when  frozen  sheets  and  blocks  choked 
with  ice  made  it  an  open  question  if  even  a 

youngster  ought  to  take  the  chances.  But  it 

182 


The  Leading  Light 

happened  that  his  "better  half,"  like  himself, 
had  that  "right  stuff"  in  her  which  thinks  of 
itself  last,  and  her  permission  for  the  venture 
was  never  in  question. 

So  Trader  Bourne,  being,  like  all  our  men,  a 
sailor  first  and  a  landsman  after,  with  his  crew 
of  the  mate  and  a  boy,  and  the  handicap  of  a 
passenger,  put  to  sea  one  fine  afternoon  in  late 
November,  his  vessel  loaded  with  good  things 
for  his  necessitous  friends  "up along."  He  was 
encouraged  by  a  light  breeze  which,  though 
blowing  out  of  the  bay  and  there  ahead  for 
him,  gave  smooth  water  and  a  clear  sky. 

To  those  who  would  have  persuaded  him  to 
linger  for  a  fair  wind  he  had  cheerfully  count- 
ered that  the  schooner  had  "two  sides,"  mean- 
ing that  she  could  hold  her  own  in  adversity, 
and  could  claw  well  to  windward;  besides, 
"  't  will  help  to  hold  the  Northern  slob  back" 
—  that  threatening  spectre  of  our  winters. 

When  darkness  fell,  however,  very  little 
progress  had  been  made.  The  wind  kept  shift- 
ing against  the  schooner,  and  all  hands  could 
still  make  out  the  distant  lights  of  home  twin- 

183 


Labrador  Days 

kling  like  tiny  stars,  apparently  not  more  than 
a  couple  of  miles  under  their  lee. 

"Shall  us  'hard  up/  and  try  it  again  at  day- 
light? "  suggested  the  mate.  "  If  anything  hap- 
pens Jt  is  a  poor  time  of  year  to  be  out  all 
night  in  a  small  craft." 

But  the  skipper  only  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
aware  that  the  mate  was  never  a  "  snapper " 
seaman,  being  too  much  interested  in  gardens 
for  his  liking. 

"It's  only  a  mile  or  two  to  Beach  Rock 
Cove.  We'll  make  it  on  the  next  tack  if  the 
wind  holds.  'T  is  a  long  leg  and  a  short  one, 
and  we'll  have  a  good  chance  then  to  make 
the  Boiling  Brooks  to-morrow." 

"Lee  oh!"  and,  putting  the  helm  up,  the 
Leading  Light  was  soon  racing  off  into  the 
increasing  darkness  towards  the  cliffs  away 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bay. 

The  wind  freshened  as  the  evening  ad- 
vanced —  the  usual  experience  of  our  late  fall 
nights.  An  hour  went  by,  and  as  the  wind  was 
still  rising,  the  flying  jib  was  taken  in.  After 

this  the  captain  sent  the  crew  below  for  a 

184 


The  Leading  Light 

"mug  o'  tea"  while  he  took  the  first  trick  at 
the  wheel. 

Still  the  wind  rose.  The  sea  too  was  begin- 
ning to  make,  and  the  little  craft  started  to 
fall  to  leeward  too  much  to  please  the  skipper. 
The  men  were  again  called,  and  together  they 
reset  all  the  head  canvas.  The  Leading  Light 
now  answered  better  to  her  helm,  and,  heading 
up  a  point,  reached  well  into  the  bay. 

"Smooth  water  again  before  dawn,"  said 
the  skipper  in  his  endeavour  to  cheer  the  de- 
spondent mate,  when  once  more  they  had 
gone  aft.  "Looks  like  clearing  overhead.  I 
reckon  she'll  be  well  along  by  daylight." 

But  the  mate  seemed  "stun,"  and  only 
grunted  in  return. 

"You  go  down  and  finish  supper,  and  then 
you  can  give  me  a  spell  at  the  wheel  while  I 
get  my  pipe  lighted,"  continued  the  captain. 
Thereupon  the  other,  nothing  loath  to  have 
something  to  keep  his  mind  diverted,  was  soon 
below,  searching  for  consolation  in  a  steaming 
mug,  but  failing  to  find  it,  in  spite  of  the  wel- 
come contrast  between  the  cosy  warm  cabin, 

185 


Labrador  Days 

and  the  darkness  and  driving  spume  on  deck, 
lacking  as  he  did,  alas,  the  sea  genius  of  our 
race. 

"Watch  on  deck!"  at  length  called  Bourne; 
and  a  few  minutes  later,  having  entrusted  the 
helm  to  the  mate,  he  was  lighting  his  pipe  at 
the  cabin  fire.  All  of  a  sudden  down,  down, 
down  went  the  lee  floor  of  the  cabin,  and  up, 
up,  up  went  the  weather,  till  it  felt  as  if  the 
little  ship  were  really  going  over. 

"What's  up?"  the  skipper  fairly  yelled 
through  the  companion,  as  clinging  and  strug- 
gling his  utmost  he  forced  his  way  on  deck, 
as  soon  as  the  vessel  righted  herself  enough  to 
make  it  possible.  "Hard  down!  Hard  down! 
Let  her  come  up!  Ease  her!  Ease  her!"  —  and 
whether  the  puff  of  wind  slackened  or  the 
mate  lost  hold  of  the  wheel,  he  never  has  been 
able  to  tell,  but  she  righted  enough  for  a  mo- 
ment to  let  him  get  on  the  deck  and  rush 
forward  to  slack  up  the  fore-sheet,  bawling 
meanwhile  through  the  darkness  to  the  mate 
to  keep  her  head  up,  as  he  himself  tore  and 

tugged  at  the  rope. 

186 


The  Leading  Light 

The  schooner,  evidently  well  off  the  wind, 

yet  with  all  her  sheets  hauled  tight  and  clewed 
\ 

down,  was  literally  flying  ahead,  but  trying 
to  dive  right  through  the  ponderous  seas,  in- 
stead of  skimming  over  and  laughing  at  them, 
as  the  captain  well  knew  she  ought  to  do. 
There  was  n't  a  second  to  lose  pondering  the 
problem  as  to  why  she  would  not  come  up  and 
save  herself.  Difficult  and  dangerous  as  it  was 
in  the  pitch  dark  with  the  deck  slippery  with 
ice,  and  the  dizzy  angle  at  which  it  stood,  the 
only  certain  way  to  save  the  situation  was  to 
let  go  that  sheet.  Frantically  he  struggled  with 
the  rope,  firmly  clinched  though  it  was  round 
its  cleats  with  the  ice  that  had  made  upon  it. 
Knowing  how  sensitive  the  vessel  was  and 
that  she  would  answer  to  a  half -spoke  turn  of 
the  wheel,  and  utterly  at  a  loss  to  understand 
her  present  stubbornness,  he  still  kept  calling 
to  the  helmsman,  "Hard  down!  Hard  down!" 
—  only  to  receive  again  the  growling  answer, 
"Hard  down  it  is.  She's  been  hard  down  this 
long  time." 

It  was  all  no  good.  Up,  up  came  the  weather 
187 


Labrador  Days 

rail  under  the  terrific  pressure  of  the  wind.  The 
fore-sheet  was  now  already  well  under  water, 
cleat  and  all,  and  the  captain  had  just  time  to 
dash  for  the  bulwark  and  hold  on  for  dear 
life,  when  over  went  the  stout  little  craft,  sails, 
masts,  and  rigging,  all  disappearing  beneath  the 
waves.  It  seemed  as  if  a  minute  more  and  she 
must  surely  vanish  altogether,  and  all  hands  be 
lost  almost  within  sight  of  their  own  homes. 

Tumultuous  thoughts  flooded  the  captain's 
mind  as  for  one  second  he  clung  to  the  rail. 
Vain  regrets  were  followed  like  lightning  by  a 
momentary  resignation  to  fate.  In  the  minds 
of  most  men  hope  would  undoubtedly  have 
perished  right  there.  But  Captain  Bourne  was 
made  of  better  stuff.  "Nil  desperandum"  is 
the  Englishman's  soul;  and  soon  he  found 
himself  crawling  carefully  hand  over  hand  to- 
wards the  after  end  of  the  vessel.  Suddenly  in 
the  darkness  he  bumped  into  something  soft 
and  warm  lying  out  on  the  quarter.  It  proved 
to  be  his  passenger,  resigned  and  mute,  with 
no  suggestion  to  offer  and  no  spirit  to  do  more 
than  lie  and  perish  miserably. 

188 


The  Leading  Light 

Still  climbing  along  he  could  not  help  mark- 
ing the  absence  of  the  mate  and  the  boy  from 
the  rail,  which  standing  out  alone  against  the 
sky-line  was  occasionally  visible.  Doubtless 
they  must  have  been  washed  overboard  when 
the  vessel  turned  turtle.  There  was  some 
heavy  ballast  in  the  schooner  besides  the  bar- 
rels of  flour  and  other  supplies  in  her  hold.  Her 
deck  also  was  loaded  with  freight,  and  alas,  the 
ship's  boat  was  lashed  down  to  the  deck  with 
strong  gripes  beneath  a  lot  of  it.  Moreover,  it 
was  on  the  starboard  side,  and  away  down 
under  water  anyhow.  Though  every  moment 
he  was  expecting  the  Leading  Light  to  make 
her  last  long  dive,  his  courage  never  for  a 
second  deserted  him. 

He  remembered  that  there  was  a  new  boat 
on  the  counter  aft  which  he  was  carrying  with 
him  for  one  of  his  dealers.  She  was  not  lashed 
either,  except  that  her  painter  was  fast  to  a 
stanchion.  It  was  just  possible  that  she  might 
still  be  afloat,  riding  to  the  schooner  as  a  sea 
anchor.  Still  clinging  to  the  rail  he  peered  and 
peered  through  the  darkness,  only  to  see  the 

189 


Labrador  Days 

great  white  mainsail  now  and  again  gleam 
ghostlike  in  the  dim  light  when  the  super- 
incumbent water  foamed  over  it,  as  the  Lead- 
ing Light  wallowed  in  the  sullen  seas.  Then 
something  dark  rose  against  the  sky  away  out 
beyond  the  peak  end  of  the  gaff  —  something 
black  looming  up  on  the  crest  of  a  mighty 
comber.  An  uncanny  feeling  crept  over  him. 
Yet  what  else  could  it  be  but  the  boat?  But 
what  could  that  boat  be  doing  out  there?  Fas- 
cinated, he  kept  glaring  out  in  that  direction. 
Yes,  surely,  there  it  flashed  again  across  the 
sky-line.  This  time  he  was  satisfied  that  it  was 
the  boat,  and  that  she  was  afloat  and  partly 
protected  by  the  breakwater  formed  by  the 
schooner's  hull.  She  was  riding  splendidly.  In 
an  instant  he  recalled  that  he  had  given  her  a 
new  long  painter;  and  that  somehow  she  must 
have  been  thrown  clear  when  the  ship  turned 
over.  Anyhow,  she  was  his  only  chance  for  life. 
Get  her  he  must,  and  get  her  at  once.  Every 
second  spelt  less  chance  of  success.  Any  mo- 
ment she  might  break  adrift  or  be  dragged 

down  by  the  sinking  schooner.  And  then  came 

190 


The  Leading  Light 

the  horrible  memory  that  she  too  had  been 
stowed  on  the  lee  side,  and  her  painter  also 
was  under  the  mainsail  and  fastened  now 
several  feet  below  the  surface.  Even  the  sail 
itself  was  under  water,  and  the  sea  breaking 
in  big  rushes  over  it  with  every  comber  that 
came  along. 

To  get  the  boat  was  surely  impossible.  It 
only  added  to  the  horror  of  the  plight  to  perish 
there  miserably  of  cold,  thinking  of  home  and 
of  the  loved  ones  peacefully  asleep  so  near, 
while  the  way  to  them  and  safety  lay  only  a 
few  fathoms  distant  —  torturing  him  by  its 
very  nearness.  For  every  now  and  then  driv- 
ing hard  to  the  end  of  her  tether  she  would 
rush  forward  on  a  sea  and  appear  to  be  coming 
within  his  reach,  only  to  mock  him  by  drifting 
away  once  more,  like  some  relentless  lady-love 
playing  with  his  very  heartstrings.  The  rope 
under  the  sunken  mainsail  prevented  her  from 
quite  reaching  him,  and  each  time  that  she 
seemed  coming  to  his  arms,  she  again  darted 
beyond  his  grasp. 

Whatever  could  be  done  must  be  done  at 
191 


Labrador  Days 

once.  Even  now  he  realized  that  the  cold  and 
wet  were  robbing  him  of  his  store  of  strength. 
Could  he  possibly  get  out  to  where  the  boat 
was?  There  might  be  one  way,  but  there  could 
be  only  one,  and  even  that  appeared  a  desper- 
ate and  utterly  futile  venture.  It  was  to  find  a 
footing  somehow,  to  let  go  his  vise-like  grip  of 
the  rail,  and  leap  out  into  the  darkness  across 
the  black  and  fathomless  gulf  of  water  surging 
up  between  the  hull  and  the  vessel's  main 
boom  in  the  hope  of  landing  in  the  belly  of  the 
sail;  to  be  able  to  keep  his  balance  and  walk 
out  breast  high  through  the  rushing  water  into 
the  blackness  beyond  till  he  should  reach  the 
gaff;  and  so,  clinging  there,  perchance  catch 
the  boat's  painter  as  she  ran  in  on  a  rebound- 
ing sea.  There  would  be  nothing  to  hold  on  to. 
The  ever  swirling  water  would  upset  a  man 
walking  in  daylight  on  a  level  quayside.  He 
would  have  nothing  but  a  sunken,  bellying 
piece  of  canvas  to  support  him  —  a  piece  only, 
for  the  little  leach  rope  leading  from  the  clew 
to  the  peak  marked  a  sharp  edge  which  would 
spell  the  dividing  line  between  life  and  death. 

192 


The  Leading  Light 

He  had  known  men  of  courage;  he  had  read 
of  what  Englishmen  had  done.  But  he  had 
never  suspected  that  in  his  own  English  blood 
could  lie  dormant  that  which  makes  heroes 
at  all  times.  A  hastily  breathed  prayer  —  his 
mind  made  up,  letting  go  of  the  weather  rail 
he  commenced  to  lower  himself  to  the  wheel, 
hoping  to  get  a  footing  there  for  the  momen- 
tous spring  that  would  in  all  probability  land 
him  in  eternity.  But  even  as  he  climbed  a 
little  farther  aft  to  reach  down  to  it,  he  found 
himself  actually  straddling  the  bodies  of  the 
missing  mate  and  boy,  who  were  cowering 
under  the  rail,  supported  by  their  feet  against 
the  steering-gear  boxing. 

Like  a  thunderclap  the  whole  cause  of  the 
disaster  burst  upon  his  mind.  The  mate's  feet 
planked  against  the  spokes  of  the  wheel  sug- 
gested it.  The  helm  was  not  hard  down  at  all, 
and  never  had  been.  It  was  hard  up  all  the 
time.  He  remembered,  now  that  it  was  too 
late,  that  the  mate  had  always  steered  hith- 
erto with  a  tiller;  that  a  wheel  turns  exactly 
the  opposite  way  to  the  tiller;  and  that  with 

193 


Labrador  Days 

every  sail  hauled  tight,  and  the  helm  held  hard 
over,  the  loyal  little  craft  had  been  as  literally 
murdered  as  if  she  had  been  torpedoed,  and 
also  their  lives  jeopardized  through  this  man's 
folly.  What  was  the  good  of  him  even  now? 
There  he  lay  like  a  log,  as  dumb  as  the  man 
whom  he  had  left  clinging  to  the  taffrail. 

"What's  to  be  done  now?"  he  shouted,  try- 
ing in  vain  to  rouse  the  prostrate  figure  with 
his  foot.  "Rouse  up!  Rouse  up,  you  fool!"  he 
roared.  "Are  you  going  to  die  like  a  coward?" 
And  letting  himself  down,  he  put  his  face 
close  to  that  of  the  man  who  by  his  stupidity 
had  brought  them  all  to  this  terrible  plight. 
But  both  the  mate  and  boy  seemed  paralyzed. 
Not  a  word,  not  a  moan  could  he  get  out  of 
them.  The  help  which  they  would  have  been 
was  denied  him.  Once  more  he  realized  that  if 
any  one  was  to  be  saved,  he  and  he  alone  must 
accomplish  it.  A  momentary  rest  between  two 
waves  decided  him.  There  was  one  half -second 
of  trying  to  get  his  balance  as  he  stood  up, 
then  came  the  plunge  into  the  wild  abyss,  and 
he  found  himself  floundering  in  the  belly  of 

194 


The  Leading  Light 

the  sail,  struggling  to  keep  his  footing,  but  up 
to  his  waist  in  water.  With  a  fierce  sense  of 
triumph  that  he  was  safely  past  the  first  dan- 
ger, the  yawning  gulf  between  the  rail  and 
boom,  he  threw  every  grain  of  his  remaining 
strength  into  the  desperate  task  before  him, 
and  pushed  out  for  the  gaff  that  was  lying  on 
the  surface  of  the  sea,  thirty  feet  away  in  the 
darkness.  Even  as  he  started  a  surging  wave 
washed  him  off  his  feet,  and  again  he  found 
himself  hopelessly  wallowing  in  the  water,  but 
still  in  the  great  cauldron  formed  by  the 
canvas. 

How  any  human  being  could  walk  even  the 
length  of  the  sail  under  such  circumstances  he 
does  not  know  any  more  than  I  do.  But  the 
impossible  was  accomplished,  and  somehow  he 
was  clinging  at  last  like  a  limpet  to  the  very 
end  of  the  gaff,  his  legs  already  dangling  over 
the  fatal  edge,  and  with  nothing  to  keep  him 
from  the  clutch  of  death  beyond  it  but  his 
grip  of  the  floating  spar.  To  this  he  must  cling 
until  the  mocking  boat  should  again  come  taut 
on  the  line  and  possibly  run  within  his  reach. 

195 


Labrador  Days 

The  next  second  out  of  the  darkness  what 
seemed  to  the  man  in  the  sail  a  mountain  of 
blackness  rushed  hissing  at  him  from  the 
chaos  beyond,  actually  swept  across  him  into 
the  belly  of  the  sail,  and  tore  him  from  his 
rapidly  weakening  hold  of  the  spar.  With  the 
energy  of  despair  his  hands  went  up  and  caught 
something,  probably  a  bight  in  the  now  slack- 
ened painter.  In  a  trice  he  was  gripping  the 
rail,  and  a  second  later  he  was  safely  inside 
the  boat,  and  standing  shaking  himself  like 
some  great  Newfoundland  dog. 

Even  now  a  seemingly  insuperable  difficulty 
loomed  ahead.  He  had  no  knife  and  was  un- 
able to  let  go  the  rope.  Would  he  be  able 
to  take  his  comrades  aboard,  and  would  the 
schooner  keep  afloat  and  form  a  breastwork 
against  the  sea,  or  would  it  sink  and,  after 
all  his  battle,  drag  the  boat  and  him  down 
with  it  to  perdition? 

Philosophizing  is  no  help  at  such  a  time.  Ht 
would  try  for  the  other  men.  To  leave  them 
was  unthinkable.  Once  more  fortune  was  on 
his  side.  The  oars  were  still  in  the  boat,  lashed 

196 


The  Leading  Light 

firmly  to  the  thwarts  —  a  plan  upon  which 
he  had  always  insisted.  Watching  his  chance, 
and  skilfully  manoeuvring,  he  succeeded  in  ap- 
proaching the  schooner  stern  first,  when  the 
cable  just  allowed  him  to  touch  the  perpen- 
dicular deck.  His  shouts  to  the  others  had  now 
quite  a  different  ring.  His  words  were  com- 
mands, leaving  no  initiative  to  them.  They 
realized  also  that  their  one  and  only  chance 
for  life  lay  in  that  boat;  and  returning 
hope  lent  them  the  courage  which  they  had 
hitherto  lacked.  After  a  delay  which  seemed 
hours  to  the  anxious  captain  at  such  a  time, 
with  skilful  handling  he  had  got  all  three 
aboard. 

Once  more  he  was  face  to  face  with  the 
problem  of  the  relentless  rope,  but  again 
fortune  proved  to  be  on  his  side.  It  was  the 
passenger,  the  useless,  burdensome  passenger, 
who  now  held  the  key  to  the  situation.  He 
had  sensed  the  danger  in  a  moment,  and  in- 
stantly handed  the  skipper  a  large  clasp-knife. 
With  it  to  free  the  boat  from  the  wreck  was 

but  the  work  of  a  moment. 

197 


Labrador  Days 

True,  their  position  in  a  small  open  "rod- 
ney"  in  the  middle  of  a  dark,  rough  night  in 
the  North  Atlantic  was  not  exactly  enviable, 
especially  as  the  biting  winter  wind  was  freez- 
ing their  clothing  solid,  and  steadily  sapping 
their  small  stock  of  remaining  vitality. 

Yet  these  men  felt  that  they  had  crossed  a 
gulf  almost  as  wide  as  that  between  Dives  and 
Lazarus.  If  they  could  live,  they  knew  that  the 
boat  could,  for  the  ice  would  not  clog  her 
enough  to  sink  her  before  daylight,  and  as  for 
the  sea  —  well,  as  with  the  schooner,  it  was 
only  a  matter  of  handling  their  craft  till  the 
light  came. 

Meanwhile,  though  they  did  not  then  know 
it,  they  had  drifted  a  very  considerable  way 
towards  their  own  homes,  so  that,  rowing 
in  turn  and  constantly  bailing  out  their  boat 
they  at  length  made  the  shore  at  the  little 
village  of  Wild  Bight,  only  a  few  miles  away 
from  their  own.  The  good  folk  at  once  kindled 
fires,  and  bathed  and  chafed  the  half-frozen 
limbs  and  chilled  bodies  of  the  exhausted 

crew. 

198 


The  Leading  Light 

Now  the  one  anxiety  of  all  hands  was  to  get 
home  as  quickly  as  possible  for  fear  that  some 
rumor  of  the  disaster  in  the  form  of  wreckage 
from  the  schooner  might  carry  to  their  loved 
ones  news  of  the  accident,  and  lead  them  to  be 
terrified  over  their  apparent  deaths.  As  soon  as 
possible  after  dawn  of  day,  the  skipper  started 
for  home,  having  borrowed  a  small  rodney, 
and  the  wind  still  keeping  in  the  same  quarter. 
To  his  intense  surprise  a  large  trap-boat 
manned  by  several  men,  seeing  his  little  boat, 
hailed  him  loudly,  and  when  on  drawing  near 
it  was  discovered  who  they  were,  proceeded 
to  congratulate  him  heartily  on  his  escape. 
Already  the  very  thing  that  he  had  dreaded 
might  happen  must  surely  have  occurred. 
i  "How  on  earth  did  you  know  so  soon?"  he 
enquired,  annoyed. 

"As  we  came  along  before  t*  wind  we  saw 
what  us  took  to  be  a  dead  whale.  But  her 
turned  out  to  be  a  schooner  upside  down.  We 
made  out  she  were  t'  Leading  Light,  and 
feared  you  must  all  have  been  drowned,  as 
there  was  no  sign  of  any  one  on  her  upturned 

199 


Labrador  Days 

keel.  So  we  were  hurrying  to  your  house  to 
find  out  t'  truth." 

"Don't  say  a  word  about  it,  boys,"  said  the 
skipper.  "One  of  you  take  this  skiff  and  row 
her  back  to  Wild  Bight,  while  I  go  with  the 
others  and  try  and  tow  in  the  wreck  before 
the  wind  shifts.  But  be  sure  not  to  say  any- 
thing about  the  business  at  home." 

The  wind  still  held  fair,  and  by  the  aid  of  a 
stout  line  they  were  able,  after  again  finding 
the  vessel,  to  tow  her  into  their  own  harbour 
and  away  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  Bight, 
where  they  stranded  her  at  high  water  on  the 
tiny  beach  under  the  high  crags  which  shoulder 
out  the  ocean.  By  a  clever  system  of  pulleys 
and  blocks  from  the  trunks  of  trees  in  the 
clefts  of  the  cliff  she  was  hauled  upright,  and 
held  while  the  water  fell.  Then  the  Leading 
Light  was  pumped  out  and  refloated  on  the 
following  tide.  On  examination,  she  was  pro- 
nounced uninjured  by  her  untimely  adven- 
ture. 

I  owe  it  to  John  Bourne  to  say  that  the 

messenger  forbidden  to  tell  of  the  terrible  ex- 

200 


The  Leading  Light 

perience  told  it  to  his  own  wife,  and  she  told  it 
—  well,  anyhow,  the  skipper's  wife  had  heard 
of  it  before  the  Leading  Light  once  more  lay 
at  anchor  at  her  owner's  wharf.  Courage  in  a 
moment  of  danger,  or  to  preserve  life,  is  one 
thing.  The  courage  that  faces  odds  when  the 
circumstances  are  prosaic  and  the  decision 
deferred  is  a  rarer  quality.  It  was  a  real  piece 
of  courage  which  gave  the  little  schooner 
another  chance  that  fall  to  retrieve  her  repu- 
tation. She  was  permitted  to  deliver  the  goods 
against  all  odds,  and  what  is  more  the  cap- 
tain's wife  kissed  him  good-bye  with  a  brave 
face  when  once  again  he  let  the  foresail  draw, 
and  the  Leading  Light  stood  out  to  sea  on  her 
second  and  successful  venture. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  when  she  went  to 
bed  in  the  ice  that  winter,  she  carried  with  her 
the  good  wishes  and  grateful  thanks  of  many 
poor  and  lonely  souls;  and  some  have  said  that 
when  they  were  walking  round  the  head  of  the 
cove  in  which  it  was  the  habit  of  the  little 
craft  to  hibernate,  strange  sounds  like  that  of 
a  purring  cat  were  ofttimes  wafted  shoreward. 

201 


Labrador  Days 

"It  is  only  the  wind  in  her  rigging,"  the 
skeptical  explained;  but  a  suspicion  still  lurks 
in  some  of  our  minds  that  the  Eskimo  are  not 
so  far  from  the  truth  in  conceding  souls  to 
inanimate  objects. 


THE  RED  ISLAND  SHOALS 

THE  house  was  fairly  shaking  in  the  gale,  and 
any  one  but  Uncle  Rube,  who  had  lived  in  it 
since  he  put  it  there  forty  years  before,  would 
have  been  expecting  things  to  happen.  But 
the  old  man  sat  dozing  in  his  chair  beside 
the  crackling  stove,  and  the  circling  rings  of 
smoke  rising  over  his  snow-white  head  were 
the  only  signs  of  life  about  him.  The  only 
other  occupant  of  the  house  was  a  little  girl 
whom  Uncle  Rube  had  taken  for  "company," 
the  year  that  his  wife  left  him.  The  coast 
knew  that  his  only  lad  had  been  lost  aboard 
some  sealer  many  years  ago.  The  little  girl  was 
lying  stretched  out  on  the  wooden  settle  close 
beside  him.  Twice  already  in  the  dim  light  of 
the  tiny  window,  now  well  covered  with  snow 
outside  and  frost  within,  I  had  mistaken  her 
towsly  golden  curls  for  a  hearth-brush,  she 
lay  so  still. 

At  length,  as  the  cottage  gave  a  more  vio- 
203 


Labrador  Days 

lent  lurch  than  usual,  even  my  book  failed  to 
keep  my  mind  at  rest. 

"Are  n't  you  afraid  the  house  is  going  to 
blow  away,  Uncle  Rube?  You  remember  that 
our  church  blew  into  the  harbor,  pews  and 
floor  as  well  as  walls  and  roof.  You  could  see 
the  pews  at  low  water  till  the  ice  took  them 
away." 

Crack!  Crack!  Crack! 

"No  fear  of  she,  Doctor.  She's  held  on  this 
forty  years,  and  I  reckon  she  won't  bring  her 
anchors  home  till  I  does  myself." 

"Never  to  go  again  till  the  old  man  died," 
I  hummed. 

Something,  however,  seemed  to  have  roused 
up  Uncle  Rube.  For,  carefully  laying  his  pipe 
in  its  place  on  the  shelf,  he  went  to  the  door, 
opening  it  enough  to  allow  him  to  peer  out 
through  the  crack.  Unfortunately  another 
eddying  gust  struck  the  house  at  that  very 
moment,  tore  the  door  from  his  grasp,  and 
by  sweeping  in  and  taking  the  fortress  from 
within,  very  nearly  gave  it  its  coup  de  grace. 

In  the  momentary  lull  that  followed  we  man- 

204 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

aged  to  shut  the  door,  and  to  barricade  it 
from  inside. 

The  child  was  astir  before  we  got  back  to 
the  genial  warmth  of  the  stove.  Crack!  Crack! 
Crack!  went  the  little  dwelling  again,  as  a 
more  than  usually  fierce  blast  of  the  hurricane, 
strengthened  by  the  furiously  driving  snow, 
hit  it  like  another  hammer  of  Thor.  Crack! 
Crack!  The  house  seemed  to  swing  like  a 
pendulum  before  it  came  to  rest  again.  I  could 
see  that  the  old  man  was  uneasy. 

"What  is  it,  Uncle  Rube?  What  is  it?"  the 
little  girl  cried  out  petulantly. 

"Why,  nothing,  little  one,  nothing.  Only 
't  is  as  well  to  take  a  peek  out  on  times.  There 's 
no  knowing  when  there  might  be  some  one 
astray  through  this  kind  of  weather.  JT  is  no 
hurt  to  make  sure,  is  it?" 

She  was  a  pale-faced  little  thing,  with  the 
lustrous  eyes  and  delicate  skin  that  often  so 
pathetically  array  the  prospective  victims  of 
the  White  Man's  Curse.  She  had  been  a  tiny, 
unwanted  item  in  a  large  family  of  twelve 
with  which  "Providence  had  blessed"  a  strug- 

205 


Labrador  Days 

gling  friend  and  neighbor.  The  arrival  of  the 
last  had  robbed  him  of  his  only  help.  "Daddy 
gived  me  to  Uncle  Rube,"  was  her  only  ex- 
planation of  her  being  there. 

"T  is  cold,  though,"  she  answered.  "It 
made  me  dream  that  you  were  on  the  old 
island  again,  and  I  was  with  you,  and  then 
the  house  shook  so  that  it  woke  me  up." 

For  answer  he  went  to  an  old  and  well-worn 
seaman's  chest  which  served  ordinarily  for  an 
additional  seat.  The  reverent  care  with  which 
he  turned  over  the  contents  would  have  hon- 
ored a  priest  before  the  sanctuary.  But  even- 
tually he  returned  with  a  really  beautiful  shawl 
which  he  tenderly  wrapped  around  the  child, 
and  sitting  down  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoul- 
der. In  this  position  she  was  almost  immedi- 
ately asleep  again,  and,  fearing  to  wake  her, 
I  had  forborne  to  break  the  silence.  Indeed,  I 
was  far  enough  away  from  ice  and  snow  and 
blizzards  for  the  moment  —  the  Indian  shawl 
having  carried  me  home  to  England,  and  the 
old  camphor  trunk  which  my  own  mother, 

herself  born  in  India,  had  taught  us  boys  to 

206 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

reverence  as  the  old  man  did  his,  filled  as  ours 
was  with  specimens  of  weird  patterns  and 
exquisite  workmanship. 

Uncle  Rube  had  been  watching  my  eyes 
fixed  on  the  rich  mantle  that  contrasted  so 
strangely  with  every  other  surrounding. 

"I  brought  it  from  India  when  I  used  to  go 
overseas.  I  keeps  it  because  my  Mary  loved 
it  so,  though  she  'lowed  it  was  too  rich  for  t* 
likes  o'  her  to  wear  it  much.  But  I  guess  it'll 
last  now.  'T  is  t'  last  bit  o'  finery  left,"  he 
smiled,  "and  't  is  most  tune  to  be  hauling 
that  down.  For  I  reckons  Nellie  won't  last  out 
to  need  it  long.  Eh,  Doctor?"  And  for  a  mo- 
ment a  tear  sparkled  in  his  merry  old  eyes,  as 
he  peered  from  under  his  heavy  white  eye- 
brows. 

"You  can  always  trust  me  to  find  a  good 
home  for  Nellie,  Uncle  Rube,"  I  answered. 
"I've  forty  like  her  now,  and  one  more  won't 
sink  the  ship.  But  you  know  that  better  than  I 
can  tell  you."  And  suddenly  it  flashed  over  me 
that  Uncle  Rube's  unexpected  visit  to  our 
Children's  Home  must  had  have  some  rela- 

207 


Labrador  Days 

tion  to  the  curly  head  on  his  shoulder.  The 
tear  fell  on  his  tanned  cheek,  and  he  looked 
away  and  coughed.  But  he  said  nothing. 

"What  was  the  old  island  that  Nellie  was 
talking  about?  "  I  broke  in  to  relieve  the  situ- 
ation. "It  sounded  as  if  you  had  been  playing 
Robinson  Crusoe  some  time,"  I  added,  "and 
have  spun  her  yarns  that  you  won't  tell  me." 
For  the  hope  that  here  might  be  something 
which  would  fill  in  the  time  during  which  it 
was  plain  that  Jack  Frost  intended  to  keep 
me  prisoner  in  this  bookless  cabin,  suddenly 
dawned  upon  me. 

"Island?"  he  smiled,  after  a  brief  pause. 
"Island?  Oh!  that  was  forty  years  ago,  when 
us  lost  t*  old  Manxman  on  t'  Red  Island 
Shoals."  And  the  wanderlust  of  Uncle  Rube's 
British  blood,  stirred  by  this  leap  back  over 
the  passing  years,  made  him  once  more  a 
bouncing,  devil-may-care  sailor  lad.  The  sign 
of  tears  had  vanished  from  his  cheeks  as  he 
rose,  and,  gently  laying  the  little  figure  in  her 
old  corner  on  the  settle,  leisurely  lit  his  pipe. 

Like  that  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne's  Feather- 

208 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

top  it  seemed  to  send  renewed  youth  through 
his  veins  with  every  puff  he  drew.  Knowing 
that  he  was  trying  to  think,  and  fearing  to 
distract  his  mind,  I  again  kept  a  discreet 
silence.  At  last,  just  as  if  he  saw  the  scene 
again,  his  eyes  closed  and  his  splendid  shock 
of  long  white  hair  was  once  more  thrown  back 
into  its  accustomed  place  in  the  rocking-chair. 

"It  was  n't  a  fair  deal,  Doctor.  Not  a  fair 
deal.  We  was  sailors  in  those  days,  just  as 
much  as  them  is  in  they  old  tin  kettles  that 
rattles  up  and  down  t'  Straits  now,  for  all 
they  big  size  and  they  gold  braid.  T'  Manxman 
would  n't  have  come  by  her  end  as  she  did  if 
stout  arms  and  good  seamen  could  'a'  saved 
her.  Murdered  she  was,  Doctor,  murdered  by 
this  same  Jack  Frost  what's  trying  to  blow  us 
out  o'  house  and  home  right  now.  But  don't 
you  have  no  uneasiness,  Doctor,  I  've  got  him 
beat  this  tune,  and  she'll  not  drag.  No,  sir, 
not  till  I  do"  —  and  a  fierce  spirit  gleamed 
out  through  his  eyes. 

We  had  often  wondered  why  Uncle  Rube, 

the  genial,  gentle,  hospitable  old  man  that  the 

209 


Labrador  Days 

coast  knew  him  to  be,  had  come  to  put  down 
his  anchors  in  this  wild  and  almost  desolate 
gorge.  Here  was  a  possible  explanation.  The 
loss  of  his  only  lad  must  have  been  from 
this  very  Manxman,  and  by  some  strange 
twist  of  mentality  the  father  had  determined 
to  plant  himself  just  as  near  the  scene  and 
circumstance  as  human  strength  permitted, 
and  there,  single-handed  if  need  be,  fight  out 
the  battle  of  life,  with  the  daily  sense  of  flaunt- 
ing the  enemy  that  had  robbed  him  of  his  joy 
in  life  —  his  one  and  only  child.  For  with 
Chestertonian  paradox  this  lonely  man's  pas- 
sion was  children. 

"No.  No,  he  can't  move  her,  Doctor,"  he 
repeated,  as  if  he  were  reading  my  thoughts, 
as  I  truly  believe  that  he  was.  For  our  minds 
in  the  North  are  not  crusted  like  tender  feet 
with  horny  coverings  from  the  chafe  of  boots, 
or  as  are  minds  beset  with  telephones,  special 
deliveries,  and  editions  of  the  yellow  press. 

"No,  Uncle  Rube,  you  don't  think  I'd  sit 
here  if  I  was  n't  certain  of  it.  You've  got  him 

beaten  to  a  frazzle  this  time." 

210 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

I  was  right  then,  for  Uncle  Rube  "  slacked 
away"  as  he  put  it,  and  took  up  the  thread  of 
his  story  again  without  further  comment,  but 
not  before  apologizing  for  any  undue  familiar- 
ity into  which  the  excitement,  of  which  he  was 
well  aware,  might  have  betrayed  him. 

"Us  found  t'  seals  early  that  year,  and 
panned  a  voyage  of  as  fine  young  fat  as  ever 
a  'swiler'  wished  for,  but  t*  weather  was  dirty 
from  t'  day  us  struck  t'  patch,  as  if  Jack  Frost 
was  determined  us  should  n't  have  'em.  Any- 
how, afore  we  could  pick  up  more  'n  half  what 
us'd  killed,  a  dozen  o'  our  lads  got  adrift  on 
t'  floe,  and  though  they  got  aboard  another 
vessel,  us  thought  'em  was  lost.  While  us  sailed 
about  looking  for  'em,  us  lost  most  o' t'  pans. 
So  round  t'  beginning  of  April  t'  skipper,  in 
company  with  a  score  of  other  schooners,  put 
her  for  the  Norrard,  in  hopes  of  cutting  off 
some  of  t'  old  seals  in  t'  swatches.  T'  slob 
being  very  heavy  outside,  us  lay  for  inside 
Belle  Isle,  and  carried  open  water  most  across 
t'  Straits.  Well,  sir,  t'  wind  veered  round  all  of 
a  sudden,  just  as  us  was  abeam  of  t'  Devil's 

211 


Labrador  Days 

Table,  and  t'  Gulf  ice  came  out  of  t'  Straits 
fair  roaring"  —  and  Uncle  Rube  took  another 
contemplative  puff  at  his  pipe. 

"It  would  have  been  all  right  if  only  t*  big 
field  had  gone  off  t*  same  tune  before  t'  wind. 
But  somehow  there  were  a  big  block  held  up 
by  t'  Islands,  and  t'  western  ice  just  came  and 
hit  it  clip!  It  must  have  been  all  up  with  us 
right  there  but  for  t'  northeast  current,  and 
that  took  our  vessel  like  a  nutshell  and  whisked 
her  away  in  t'  heavy  slob  as  if  to  carry  her 
along  the  Labrador  coast.  But  it  proved  us 
was  not  far  enough  off  t'  land,  for  just  about 
midday  t'  Red  Islands  come  up  like  dark 
specks  out  o'  t'  ice  —  right  ahead  t'  way  we 
was  being  driven.  T'  other  schooners  was 
caught  in  t'  jam  too  and  drifting  with  us, 
little  black  dots  scattered  over  t'  surface  of  t' 
ice  field  like  t'  currants  in  slices  of  sweet  white 
loaf. 

"I  believe  our  skipper  knowed  it  were  no 
good,  just  as  soon  as  t'  watch  called  him  to  see 
for  hisself.  But  he  made  out  as  if  there  was 

nothing  to  it,  and  ordered  all  hands  to  be 

212 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

ready  to  take  t'  ice,  as  though  't  was  a  patch 
o'  swiles  instead  of  rocks  ahead.  But  when  he 
started  getting  up  grub,  and  canvas,  and  all 
sorts  of  things,  and  had  us  put  'em  in  t'  boats, 
us  knew  it  were  no  old  harps  he  was  thinking 
of. 

"Well,  sir,  it  seemed  as  if  it  had  to  be.  The 
old  Manxman  went  as  fair  for  them  reefs  as  if 
she  was  being  hauled  there  with  a  capstan.  It 
was  fair  uncanny,  and  I  believes  there  be  more 
in  some  one  driving  her  there  than  most  people 
'lows.  Anyhow,  tied  up  as  us  was  in  t'  heavy 
jam,  right  fair  towards  'em  she  had  to  go,  and 
then  on  to  'em,  and  up  over  t'  reef  as  if  us  'd 
laid  t'  course  express  for  'em,  while  every  other 
vessel  round  us  went  clear.  T'  reef 's  about  five 
feet  out  o'  water  at  high  springs,  and  about 
ten  feet  over  surface  on  t'  neaps.  Springs  it 
was  that  day,  t'  moon  being  nearly  full,  and 
t'  first  crack  ripped  t'  bottom  clean  out  o' t' 
old  ship.  Us  all  hustled  out  on  to  t'  ice,  taking 
with  us  all  us  could  carry,  working  as  quick  as 
ever  us  could,  for  t'  pressure  o'  wind  was  raft- 
ing t'  pans  on  to  t'  rocks,  and  almost  before  us 

213 


Labrador  Days 

knew  it,  what  remained  of  her  above  t'  ice  had 
gone  right  on  over  t'  shoals;  and  long  before 
dusk,  I  reckons,  had  gone  down  through  it.  At 
any  rate,  us  saw  no  more  of  her.  Us  tried  to 
make  a  bit  of  shelter  for  t'  night  out  o'  some 
of  t'  canvas,  but  t'  wind  never  slacked  a  peck, 
and  t'  rafting  ice  soon  carried  away  even  t' 
few  things  us  had  saved. 

"Had  us  known  in  time  us  had  better  have 
stuck  to  t'  boats,  for  they  might  have  given 
us  a  chance.  But  t'  wind  being  offshore,  and  t' 
ice  running  out  to  sea,  made  it  seem  safer  to 
keep  to  t'  rocks.  For  t'  Red  Island  Shoal  is 
only  three  or  four  miles  from  t'  land,  and  there 
be  liveyers,  as  us  knew,  almost  opposite.  If  t' 
wind  had  held  in  t'  same  direction  even  then 
us  might  have  escaped,  but  it  dropped  sud- 
denly about  day  dawn,  and  there  were  huge 
swatches  o*  water  between  us  and  t'  mainland 
before  it  came  light  enough  to  try  and  get 
across.  Then  just  as  suddenly  t'  wind  clipped 
round,  and  t'  sea  began  to  make,  and  t'  water 
started  breaking  right  over  them  rocks. 

"Us  had  managed  to  build  a  fire  out  o'  some 
214 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

of  t'  wreckage  saved,  and  had  thrown  in  bits 
o*  canvas  and  some  tarry  oakum  to  make 
smoke.  They  had  seen  it  too  on  t'  land,  and 
had  lit  three  smoke  fires  in  a  line  to  let  us 
know  that  they  would  send  help  if  they  could. 
But  the  veering  of  the  wind  had  made  that 
impossible,  for  they  could  only  launch  small 
skiffs,  and  they  would  not  have  lived  more  'n 
a  few  minutes  for  t*  ice  making  on  'em. 

"T"  breaking  seas  and  driving  spray  soon 
wet  all  our  men  through.  There  were  forty  of 
us  all  told.  But  by  night  several  were  either 
dead  or  beyond  help.  T'  ice  had  taken  our 
boats,  and  now  t'  seas  took  all  that  was  left. 
T*  fire  went  out  just  before  midday/ and  our 
bit  o'  grub  got  wet  and  frozen.  Next  morning 
t'  sea  was  higher  than  ever,  and  t*  bodies  of  t* 
men  mostly  washed  away  as  they  died.  All  that 
day  t'  rest  of  us  just  held  on,  some  twenty  or 
so;  but  it  was  a  bare  six  of  us  that  were  living 
t'  second  night.  There  was  no  sleep,  and  not 
even  any  lying  down  if  you  wanted  to  live. 
None  of  them  that  slept  ever  woke  again.  I 
might  have  nodded  standing  up.  Guess  I  must 

215 


Labrador  Days 

have.  But  tj  third  morning  I  was  t*  only  man 
moving;  and  though  it  was  as  fine  a  shining 
morning  as  ever  broke,  and  t'  hot  sun  from  t* 
ice  soon  put  a  little  life  hi  me,  I  never  expected 
to  see  .another  night.  Then  I  must  have  for- 
gotten everything,  even  t'  people  on  t*  shore. 
For  I  never  saw  any  boat  coming,  or  any  one 
land.  Everything  had  been  washed  away  but 
myself.  I  had  been  alone,  I  reckon,  many 
hours.  It  seemed  ages  since  I  'd  heard  a  human 
voice;  but  I  still  remembers  some  one  putting 
his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  They  had  been  call- 
ing, so  they  told  me,  but  somehow  I  heard 
nothing.  They  kept  me  a  good  many  days  be- 
fore I  knowed  anything  —  doing  for  me  like  a 
mother  would  for  her  boy.  But  more  'n  a  week 
had  gone  by  before  I  could  tell  'em  who  I  was. 
"And  then  it  all  came  back  to  me  —  t*  cruel 
suffering  of  my  shipmates,  and  most  of  all  of 
Willy,  t*  only  chick  or  child  I  ever  had.  He  had 
my  coat  over  his  oil  frock,  and  he  were  so 
brave,  so  young,  and  so  strong.  And  he  lived 
till  morning  —  long  after  great  strong  men 

had  perished  —  and  me  able  to  do  nothing. 

216 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

Then  his  poor  frozen  body  was  washed  to  and 
fro  in  that  terrible  surf,  as  if  my  boy  would  n't 
leave  me  even  if  he  was  dead.  Why  I  lived  on, 
and  why  it  pleased  God  to  spare  my  poor  life  I 
never  knowed,  or  shall  know,  Doctor,  till  he 
tells  me  himself." 

He  was  sitting  bolt  upright  now,  looking  me 
straight  in  the  face.  But  the  fire  died  suddenly 
from  Uncle  Rube's  eyes,  and,  exhausted  by 
the  effort  and  the  memories  the  story  brought 
back  to  him,  he  fell  back  in  the  chair  as  if  he 
had  been  struck  by  some  knock-out  blow.  The 
thud  of  the  fall  once  more  woke  the  child,  and, 
seeing  me  jump  to  the  old  man's  help,  she 
began  to  sob  piteously.  It  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, however.  The  splendid  vitality  of  the 
man,  toughened  by  his  hard  life  and  simple 
fare,  soon  made  him  master  of  himself  again, 
and,  apologizing  for  giving  me  trouble,  he 
took  up  the  child,  crooning  over  her  to  get  her 
quiet. 

"Forty  years  I  've  been  living  here,  Doctor," 
he  went  on.  "Forty  years  —  and  t*  last  ten 

I've  been  all  alone.  Not  a  living  soul  have  I 

217 


Labrador  Days 

had  t'  chance  to  save  all  these  long  years, 
though  God  knows  I '  ve  kept  as  good  a  lookout 
as  one  watch  could.  Then  Neighbor  Blake  lost 
his  helpmate  like  I  had  mine,  and  he  let  me 
share  up  with  him,  and  have  Nellie.  He  wanted 
his  boys  to  help  him  get  food  and  things  for 
t'  rest,  so  a  girl  was  what  he  gave  me.  And  I 
could  n't  have  had  a  boy,  Doctor,  anyhow. 
Willy's  place  will  never  be  filled  for  me,  till  he 
comes  himself  and  fills  it,  and  that  won't  be 
long  now  either."  He  looked  at  his  pipe,  which 
had  gone  out,  and  then  continued:  "No,  I'm 
not  one  o*  them  as  can  take  a  new  wife  almost 
as  soon  as  t'  first  one's  gone" — and  then 
suddenly:  "But  it's  time  to  boil  t'  kettle. 
You'se  getting  hungry,  I  'lows,  and  me  chat- 
tering like  a  fool,  and  not  thinking  of  any- 
thing beyond  my  own  troubles.  I  'm  forgetting 
you  must  be  worriting  over  being  kept  so  long 
in  this  bit  of  a  tilt,  but  you  '11  not  get  away  till 
morning,  so  just  make  yourself  as  miserable 
as  you  can!" 

As  he  bustled  around  filling  the  kettle  with 
ice  for  water,  and  struggling  to  heat  up  a 

£18 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

small  molasses  barrel  in  order  to  let  out  some 
"sweetness"  for  our  tea,  I  had  made  a  bird,  a 
boat,  and  a  couple  of  darts  out  of  paper,  as 
overtures  to  the  lady  of  the  house.  Before  the 
humble  meal  was  spread  she  had  the  room 
ringing  with  her  laughter,  as  she  darted  now 
here,  now  there,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  hit- 
ting the  old  man  himself  almost  in  the  eye. 
Many  times  that  meal  has  come  back  to  my 
memory.  The  rough  bare  boards  of  the  walls, 
naked  but  for  one  old  picture  of  a  horse  cut 
from  a  magazine,  carefully  pasted  upside 
down,  and  probably  designed  chiefly  to  cover 
some  defective  spot  that  was  admitting  too 
much  coldness;  the  crazy  table  shaking  with 
every  gust  and  causing  a  tiny  kerosene  lamp 
to  flare  up  and  menace  the  dim  religious  dark- 
ness by  depositing  even  more  lamp-black  than 
was  its  wont  on  its  already  negrine  globe;  the 
meagre  board  of  dark  bread,  "oleo,"  and 
molasses;  the  weird  minstrelsy  of  the  hurri- 
cane —  the  whole  a  harmony  of  poverty  and 
war.  Yet  the  memory  brings  deeper  pleasure 
to  my  mind  than  that  of  many  costly  banquets 

219 


Labrador  Days 

—  and  even  I  have  eaten  from  plates  of  silver 
with  implements  of  gold.  For  in  the  flickering 
light  of  the  crackling  logs  I  can  still  see  the  joy 
of  the  old  man's  kindly  face  over  the  boister- 
ous happiness  of  his  quaint  ward,  the  dance 
in  the  eyes  of  the  merry  child  as  some  colored 
candies  placed  in  my  nonny-bag  by  my  wife 
fell  somehow  from  the  sky  right  on  to  the 
table  before  her.  The  telling  of  his  story,  never 
before  mentioned  to  any  one  but  his  wife  and 
foster  child,  but  kept  like  some  vendetta 
wrong  waiting  for  revenge  in  his  rebellious 
heart  these  many  years,  seemed  to  have  re- 
newed his  youth.  A  merrier,  happier  party  it 
has  never  been  my  lot  to  share  in;  and  now 
that  I  know  the  pathos  of  the  last  chapter 
written  in  this  strange  life,  I  rejoice  more  than 
ever  that  for  that  night,  anyhow,  the  enemy 
that  haunted  him  overreached,  and  the  very 
blizzard  proved  the  key  for  one  evening  at 
least  of  freedom  from  his  obsession. 

We  were  away  before  daylight,  and  I  never 
saw  Uncle  Rube  again.  Life,  it  seems,  went 
along  tranquilly  with  him  the  following  winter. 

220 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

As  usual  he  kept  his  watch  and  ward  on  the 
cliffs  by  the  Red  Island  Shoals.  Then  the  fatal 
10th  of  April  came  round.  Once  again  it  broke 
upon  the  solitary  figure  of  the  old  man  strain- 
ing his  eyes  from  his  coign  of  vantage  on  the 
dread  shoals  of  the  Red  Islands.  Unquestion- 
ably he  saw  again  reenacted  there  the  weird 
tragedy  that  nearly  half  a  century  before  had 
broken  his  life,  bringing  home  with  a  strange 
fascination  the  moving  picture  to  his  very 
heart.  But  with  it  this  spring  he  witnessed  also 
a  scene  that  for  many  years  every  man  on  the 
coast  had  prayed  for,  but  no  man  had  been 
privileged  to  take  part  in.  The  wind  had  come 
out  of  the  Straits  and  the  Gulf  ice  was  driving 
swiftly  towards  the  great  Atlantic,  exactly  as 
it  had  done  on  the  memorable  day  now  forty 
years  before.  Once  again  there  was  ice  in  huge 
sheets  jammed  against  the  great  cliffs  of  Belle 
Isle,  and  clear  water  between.  Suddenly  the 
straining  eyes  of  the  old  sailor  shone  with  a 
totally  new  light.  He  jumped  to  his  feet,  and 
with  hands  shading  his  starting  eyes,  stood 
motionless  like  a  statue  on  the  pedestal  of  his 

221 


Labrador  Days 

lookout,  now  white  as  the  purest  marble  in  its 
winter  mantle. 

Was  it  age?  Or  the  final  break-up  of  his 
mind?  No,  neither  —  he  was  certain  of  it. 
There  were  black  things  moving  on  the  white 
ice,  and  driving  with  it  once  more,  just  as  the 
Manxman  had,  straight  for  the  shoals  of  the 
Red  Islands.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  now.  They  moved. 
They  could  be  no  land  debris,  no  shadows  from 
the  rafted  ice  sheets.  So  quickly  was  the  floe 
running  that  just  as  he  remembered  it,  before 
anything  could  be  done,  clip!  and  the  advanc- 
ing edge  had  again  struck  the  standing  ice, 
and  woe  betide  anything  that  was  in  or  on  it, 
anywhere  near  the  line  of  contact.  As  a  dazed 
mouse  watches  the  cat  that  is  toying  with  it, 
the  rigid  figure  on  the  hilltop  gazed  at  the  im- 
pending tragedy  —  too  far  off  for  his  material 
brain  correctly  to  interpret  the  image  on  his 
actual  retina.  He  was  seeing,  though  he  failed 
to  realize  it,  the  same  impress  that  emotion 
had  recorded  on  the  tablets  of  his  very  soul. 

The  realism  of  it  was  too  much  for  human 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

nature,  and  Uncle  Rube,  his  hands  covering 
his  face,  started  running  homewards  over  the 
familiar  pathway  he  had  trodden  so  often. 
Even  as  he  reached  the  cottage  in  the  gulch  he 
was  aware  of  loud  shouting,  and  of  a  team  of 
huskies  literally  tearing  over  the  snow.  They 
were  making  as  if  to  pass  his  house  without 
stopping,  as  no  man  ever  did  that  lonely  spot, 
if  only  for  the  cup  of  tea  and  the  moment's 
"spell,"  and  the  kindly  stimulus  of  the  old 
man's  company.  Yes,  the  driver  was  shouting, 
shouting  to  him.  "Ships,  Uncle  Rube!"  — 
"What  is  it?"  —  "Ships  on  the  ice!"  the  old 
man  heard.  Did  n't  he  know  it  only  too  well  ? 
Another  moment  and  the  modern  Paul 
Revere,  with  dogs  for  horses  and  ice  and  snow 
for  a  highway,  was  flying  on  his  self-imposed 
journey,  carrying  his  slogan  from  house  to 
house  and  village  to  village  along  the  sparsely 
inhabited  coast-line.  As  Uncle  Rube  opened 
his  door  and  peered  into  the  little  room,  to  his 
infinite  joy  he  saw  the  golden  curls  in  their 
proper  place  on  the  old  settle  by  the  stove, 
while  the  regular  quiet  breathing  assured  him 

223 


Labrador  Days 

that  the  child  had  not  yet  waked  from  sleep. 
As  he  softly  tiptoed  around,  seeking  the  outfit 
he  needed  for  his  great  adventure,  the  barren- 
ness of  the  house,  the  poverty  of  it,  struck  him 
for  the  first  time.  God  knows  he  had  never 
thought  of  "things,"  except  as  he  had  needed 
them  for  himself  or  others;  and  now  he  wished 
suddenly  that  he  had  more  of  them  for  the 
child's  sake.  Suppose,  now  that  his  "day"  had 
at  last  arrived,  he  should  not  return  from  the 
long-looked-for  quest.  He  became  strangely 
conscious  that  he  had  nothing  laid  up  for  his 
darling,  the  child  who  now  filled  the  whole 
horizon  of  his  cramped  life.  Her  very  clothes 
were  in  tatters.  The  Indian  shawl,  that  I  had 
seen  pressed  into  the  service  against  his  enemy 
the  Frost  King,  was  now  only  a  thing  of  rags 
and  patches.  Were  it  not  for  his  own  big  coat, 
even  at  this  moment  his  Princess  would  be 
shivering  with  cold.  Furtively  he  glanced 
round  for  his  rope  and  gaff,  relics  of  the  last 
time  he  had  gone  on  the  ice.  All  these  years  he 
had  kept  them  ready  for  "the  day,"  never  able 
to  break  the  spell  woven  around  them  on  the 

224 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

ill-fated  Manxman.  There  was  his  nonny-bag, 
in  it  already  the  sugar  and  oatmeal,  the  ration 
of  pork,  and  the  small  bottle  of  brandy,  that 
each  year  he  kept  ready  when  the  10th  of 
March  came  round  —  the  day  on  which  the 
sealers  leave  for  the  ice  fields.  The  new  idea 
that  his  life  was  of  value  for  the  child's  sake 
sent  a  half-guilty  feeling  through  him,  lest  he 
be  caught  looking  at  these  implements,  where 
they  lay  with  his  old  converted  flintlock  gun 
on  the  rack  above  the  still  glowing  stove.  Sh! 
The  child  on  the  settle  muttered  something  in 
her  sleep,  and  the  old  man,  rigid  as  an  ice 
block,  stood  listening  to  her  breathing,  as  if  he 
were  a  burglar  robbing  a  rich  man's  bedroom, 
in  which  the  owner  himself  lay  sleeping.  But 
she  quieted  down  again,  and  once  more  he 
breathed  freely. 

At  last  he  was  ready,  all  but  the  big  coat. 
Well,  he  could  do  without  that.  If  he  were  not 
back  before  dark  the  difference  it  would  make 
would  anyhow  be  negligible.  There  was  no 
time  to  delay.  He  must  go  now  or  never;  and 
the  indomitable  old  warrior  stooped  over  to 

225 


Labrador  Days 

kiss  the  child  good-bye,  though  he  dare  only 
touch  with  his  lips  the  golden  hair,  for  fear  of 
waking  her.  Then  in  his  simple  way  he  breathed 
a  wordless  prayer,  committing  her  to  God's 
keeping,  and,  stealthily  letting  himself  out, 
made  straight  for  the  likeliest  part  of  the  head- 
land from  which  to  take  the  ice. 

As  one  thinks  now  of  that  old  man  setting 
out  alone  over  that  endless  ocean  of  ice,  one 
wonders  if  one  has  one's  self  ever  attempted 
anything  heroic.  But  Uncle  Rube  thought  only 
of  one  thing  that  morning  —  of  foiling  his  arch 
enemy  on  the  Red  Island  Shoals;  and  though 
nearly  fourscore  years  had  passed  over  him, 
he  felt  like  a  lad  of  twenty  as  he  strode  rapidly 
along  towards  the  landwash. 

Of  course  he  must  haul  his  boat,  but  that  he 
could  easily  do.  Had  he  not  built  her  himself 
expressly,  small,  and  of  half-inch  planking  over 
the  lightest  of  frames,  with  two  bilge  streaks 
to  act  as  runners,  and  flat-bottomed  that  she 
should  drag  well  over  snow?  When  at  length 
he  had  launched  her  over  the  "ballicater"  ice, 

and  had  pulled  her  clear  of  the  cracks  by  the 

226 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

landwash,  he  stopped  and  spent  a  grudgingly 
spared  moment  in  lighting  his  pipe.  Then, 
heigho,  and  away  for  the  open  sea  —  out  on  to 
which  he  marched  with  his  head  erect  and  his 
old  heart  dauntless,  like  the  peaceful  Minute- 
Men  of  1776. 

Meanwhile  an  ever-increasing  crowd  of  men, 
women,  and  even  children  were  pouring  from 
apparently  nowhere  out  on  to  the  floe.  The 
young  men  were  "copying,"  as  we  say,  over 
the  ice,  that  is,  jumping  from  pan  to  pan  as 
they  ventured  far  out  from  the  land  seeking 
the  seals  which  the  running  ice,  driving  out 
before  the  wind,  had  brought  down  from  the 
Gulf,  and  then  killing  them,  and  hauling  them 
back  into  safety. 

It  was  from  them  that  I  subsequently 
learned  the  story  of  the  day.  Before  night  fell 
the  wind  had  risen,  and  blew  directly  from 
the  land.  Snow  began  to  fall  soon  after  mid- 
day, and  by  sundown  a  living  blizzard  howled 
over  the  frozen  ocean.  None  of  the  distant 
neighbors  had  seen  Uncle  Rube  set  out;  none 
of  them  even  knew  that  he  had  left  his  house; 

227 


Labrador  Days 

no  one  before  ever  heard  of  his  doing  such  a 
thing  as  start  out  on  the  ice  alone.  Nor  was  it 
till  the  next  day  that  a  half -frozen  little  girl, 
who  was  heard  crying  in  the  snow  in  front  of 
a  neighbor's  house,  disclosed  the  secret  that 
Uncle  Rube  was  missing. 

How  had  they  known  at  all  that  there  were 
seals  on  the  ice  that  day?  Known?  Why,  Mark 
Seaforth  had  gone  all  along  the  coast  telling 
them  early  in  the  morning.  He  had  got  the 
news  from  the  lighthouse,  and  it  was  the  oldest 
of  customs  to  give  all  hands  a  chance  whenever 
the  seals  were  sighted  driving  alongshore. 

It  had  not  been  the  material  ear  drum  to 
which  the  old  man  had  listened  for  his  sailing 
orders.  On  that  day  especially  he  had  heard 
with  other  ears,  and  all  the  coast  freed  Mark 
from  any  blame  for  the  old  sailor's  having 
understood  "ships"  instead  of  "seals." 

Late  in  the  sealing  season  of  that  same  year 
the  good  ship  Artemis,  a  stout,  steel-sheathed 
ice  hunter,  a  unit  of  the  modern  fleet  that  have 
long  ago  displaced  the  wooden  schooners  that 

once  in  hundreds  followed  the  seal  herds,  was 

228 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

steaming  north  to  finish  up  shooting  old  harps 
in  the  swatches,  having  lost  a  number  of  her 
pans  in  bad  weather  farther  south.  Seals  were 
scarce  on  the  west  side,  and  the  wireless  had 
warned  the  skipper  that  a  patch  of  old  seals 
was  passing  eastward  through  the  Straits. 
Cape  Bauld  Light  had  been  sighted,  and  so 
also  had  the  new  light  on  Belle  Isle.  The  bar- 
relmen  were  eagerly  scanning  the  ice  for  any 
signs  of  the  expected  herd. 

"Something  black  on  the  ice  on  the  port 
bow!"  shouted  the  man  from  the  foretop. 

"Where  away?"  answered  the  master  of 
the  bridge. 

"About  four  points  to  the  northwest." 

"Hard  astarboard!"  from  the  bridge. 

"Starboard  hard!"  from  the  wheel,  and  the 
big  ship  wheeled  a  course  direct  for  the  Red 
Island  Shoals. 

"Steady!"  from  the  bridge. 

"Steady  it  is!"  And  the  Artemis  wheeled  a 
little  more,  and  leaving  the  shoals  on  her  right, 
steamed  towards  the  object  that  had  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  watch.  The  bridge  mas- 


Labrador  Days 

ter,  viewing  it  through  his  glasses,  suddenly 
stopped  short,  fixing  his  gaze  on  the  spot  with 
far  more  than  his  wonted  intensity. 

"What  is  it,  John?"  he  said  to  the  watch- 
man. "Seems  queer  to  me.  It's  no  seal,  I'll 
swear." 

John  took  the  glasses,  and,  putting  them  to 

his  eyes,  made  out  at  once  what  the  object  was. 

*  'T  is  a  small  boat  upside  down  —  and  yes, 

there 's  a  man's  body  for  certain,  stretched  out 

beside  it,"  he  announced  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"Go  slow!"  to  the  engine  man. 

"Slow!"  rang  back  the  watchful  engineer. 

"Stop  her!"  and  over  the  side  went  half  a 
dozen  men. 

"Take  that  hatch  over,  and  bring  in  the 
man  off  the  ice." 

All  the  crew,  some  three  hundred  blackened 
figures,  were  now  leaning  over  the  rail  to  see 
the  evidence  of  this  latest  tragedy.  No  one 
knew  him,  or  could  even  guess  where  he  and 
his  boat  had  come  from,  or  on  what  strange 
quest  he  had  been  bound.  Those  ice  pans  might 
have  come  from  any  where  along  the  hundreds 

230 


The  Red  Island  Shoals 

of  miles  between  Anticosti  and  Cape  Chidley. 
To  these  men,  it  was  just  the  body  of  an  old 
man,  a  stranger.  Not  much  loss.  He  could  not 
have  lived  many  more  years,  anyhow.  Prob- 
ably no  one  would  miss  him.  No  need  to 
trouble  over  it.  A  prompt  burial  at  sea, 
thought  the  captain,  would  be  as  good  as  on 
the  land,  where  a  grave  was  an  impossibility 
now,  anyhow.  Besides,  he  was  obviously  an 
old  seaman,  and  what  could  be  more  appro- 
priate? Moreover,  the  crew  would  rather  have 
it  so  than  to  carry  the  corpse  around  while 
they  were  seal-hunting. 

There  was  no  parson  aboard,  but  the  skipper 
was  a  God-fearing  man.  So  the  flags  were 
hauled  to  half-mast,  the  ship  hove  to  the 
wind,  the  crew  called  on  deck  just  as  they 
were,  and  when  the  skipper  had  read  a  brief 
prayer,  "in  sure  and  certain  hope"  the  body 
of  Uncle  Reuben  Marston,  vanquished  by  his 
enemy  at  last,  was  committed  to  the  deep 
within  a  biscuit  toss  of  the  Red  Island  Shoals. 


THE  END 


(Cfte 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S  .  A 


S      R     L     F 
SEE  SPINE  FOR  BARCODE  NUMBER 


